


The Fault in Our Wands

by potatojuiceplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Did I mention angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Hogwarts, M/M, Magic, Scorbus, TFIOS stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 115,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatojuiceplease/pseuds/potatojuiceplease
Summary: No one said being the son of a living legend was easy, but they also forgot to mention that being the son of two living legends and invisible yet very visible to the world is extra hard. Barely eleven, young Albus has never been anything but Harry Potter's son, always determined by the most famous surname of the Wizarding community and his literally explosive magic skills. But when he sits in a carriage with only a sleeping blond boy inside on his first day at Hogwarts, he doesn't know the choice he's making will change his life forever.(No TCC, no problems, meaning I don't care about You-know-what. UPDATED EVERY MONDAY to lighten up the worst day of the week)





	1. Chapter 1

Early in the summer of my eleventh year, I decided that I was depressed, aware that I rarely left my room, spent a lot of time in bed, read the same stupid newspaper articles over and over, ate infrequently and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about my surname.

Whenever you read _The Daily Prophet_ , _Witch Weekly_ or any other shitty publication with a regular date of appearance in every witch and wizard's house, my family took up, at least, a whole page. If it wasn't for my father's advances in the eradication of the Dark Arts, it was because my brother, James, had passed his mid-term exams with something better than Ds, or because my little sister, Lily, had been "casually" found in the backyard trying to fly her little broom, and that "evidences that she will follow her parents' steps, destined as she seems to turn the Quidditch world upside down". And, if they didn't have any of those, my mother's outfits were a sure-fire way to fill the Potternews section.

Me? I didn't exist. Don't get me wrong, I didn't want to appear in the media and have the whole magic community tracking every sneeze of mine down. My semi-anonymity was comfy, and I didn't feel the slightest need to change that. But I _literally_ didn't exist. All I was was "Harry Potter's second son". I didn't even have a name. "Harry Potter's second son". And that, when they remembered to mention I was a part of the family, too. I wasn't the first-born, I wasn't the girl, I wasn't worth of attention. I was the apparent reason for Ginny Potter's increasing belly for nine months between the births of the two youngest Potter stars, but that was it. No one knew Albus. They only knew the surname. If anything at all.

 

A few weeks after my birthday, my mother decided that I was depressed, too, and took me to Regular Doctor Dean Thomas, who agreed that I was swimming in an immense and vast ocean of depression. I wanted to roll my eyes infinitely when he proudly stated the obvious, but I didn't because I kinda hoped he would give me some magical—or Muggle, I wasn't going to be picky—remedy. Maybe herbs, maybe a potion, maybe pills, but something that would make me jump to my feet psychopathically smiling like a cartoon and decide that I didn't care about being ignored and overlooked by the world. I mostly wanted to get well the easiest and fastest way possible.

But did Regular Doctor Dean Thomas give me any fast way to get better? _No_. He patted me on the shoulder with his wand instead, which sparked in a creepy way, before telling Mum all I needed was summer to be over, so that I could go to Hogwarts and make friends. Friends. I'm struggling with depression and the guy says I should make friends. Had I known that being a doctor was such an easy thing, I would've applied for my title long ago.

The whole Hogwarts thing, at least in my mother's mind, featured loads of friends for her youngest boy, adventures that didn't break the rules like James' and a lot of sparkling happiness. Yeah, school was the perfect solution before my parents' eyes. For me, it was only an additional source of stress. What if I messed up? What if I failed? What if I was unable to get those friends my mother hoped for? What if I was sorted into the wrong house?

The house thing was what freaked me out the most. My parents, my uncles and my brother had all been put into Gryffindor. But what if the Sorting Hat decided that I was a pure-breeding Hufflepuff, or an evillious Slytherin? Because there was no way I could be clever enough to be a Ravenclaw. And so it went for hours, then days, then weeks, and then summer was over, it was September the first and I had to get in the Hogwarts Express. The thing was, I couldn't.

When I saw the train, my stomach clenched in fear and my feet refused point-blank to step forward. It wasn't voluntary; _I just couldn't do it_. The train was way too much. I missed my bed as if I had never left it until then, and trust me, our tragic lovestory featured a lot of separations. It was the first time I thanked the odds for being so unknown; had the media recognized me, they would've been delighted. _"Harry Potter's son has a panic attack when facing his first year at Hogwarts!"_ I could practically hear the Quick-Quotes Quills scribbling down columns and reports on parchment.

"Afraid that you'll be a nasty snake, Al?" James mocked, patting my shoulder.

"I won't!" I protested, shaking his hand off me. "I won't be a Slytherin!"

If only _I_ could believe my own words. Sadly, it wasn't as easy as pronouncing them. Stupid James had just said what I had spent the whole summer fearing: I could be sorted into Slytherin, house of the snakes and home to people like Lord Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange.

"James, give it a rest!" Mum told him.

"I only said he _might_ be," said James, grinning at me. He was lucky that my fear had paralyzed me, because I would've slapped the smile out of his face otherwise. "There's nothing wrong with that. He _might_ be in Slytherin."

After Mum threw at him a killer glance, James fell silent and ran into the magical barrier, vanishing in front of us. "You'll write to me, won't you?" I asked immediately. Grabbing my mother's sleeve felt childish and pointless, but I did nonetheless.

"Every day, if you want us to," Mum answered. Alri—Every day? No. Just _no_. There were so many things wrong with being written to daily that I didn't know where to start. I decided that blaming my brother was a good way out. It always was.

"Not every day," I pleaded. "James says most people only get letters from home about once a month."

"We wrote to James three times a week last year," she said, frowning.

Three times a week was moreless acceptable, specially considering that the first offer had been seven times a week. Unwilling to say anything else about the mail, I moved aside and let her help me push the trolley, speeding up. As the barrier approached us and we approached the barrier, I winced. We were going to smash into the wall like flies against a window, and we were happily consenting. Having already passed through it before when we all accompanied James to the train on his first year, I knew we wouldn't be sent to St. Mungo's with a severe commotion—but running directly into a solid brick wall still gave me the creeps.

 

All of a sudden, I smelled smoke. When I opened my eyes, I saw the famous Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, half hidden in thick white steam. The Hogwarts Express was bright scarlet, and blurry figures swarmed through the mist, into which James had already disappeared. Great. Being alone? Not helpful.

"Where are they?" I asked, anxious. I knew Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, Rose and Hugo would be there, as this was Rose's first year, too, and I desperately needed to talk to someone I knew besides my parents. Thank Merlin, there they were. "Hi," I waved, relieved.

Rose, already in her brand-new Hogwarts robes, beamed at me. I nodded in her direction, already feeling better. Rose was so logical, you could never be afraid of anything in her presence. She always found a way to disarm your fear, or at least some random facts about Pelean volcanoes or the Canadian weather to distract you.

"Harry, Ginny!" Aunt Hermione threw herself into Dad's open arms, laughing. "How's Albus doing? I have seen James jumping around, so I guess he's okay."

Uncle Ron ruffled Mum's hair. "Look, it's my least favourite sister."

"Look, it's my silliest brother."

They always behaved like children when they got together, no matter how old they were. Specially Dad and my uncles—I guess they never left their quest completely. A part of them was still fighting darkness with only the other two by their side, and I suspected it would always be that way. There are things you can't go through without becoming friends, and defeating the Dark Lord is one of those things.

"Look who it is," Uncle Ron said, interrupting their chat. Everyone tilted their heads like confused owls, so it must be something really interesting. When I mimicked them, I spotted a family.

The man was dressed in a black coat and wore his sleek white-blond hair combed backwards, accenting his sharp features. There was something tormented about him, maybe the way he nervously looked at the train. His wife looked stunning in her emerald green dress, wearing her jet black hair tied up in a complicated braid that served as a headband, keeping the rest away from her face. Even though I couldn't see them clearly with all the steam, they looked like the blurry version of Bonnie and Clyde.

"Bearing such genes, it surprises me that the boy is blonde," Rose absent-mindedly murmured. "I mean—the black hair allele is dominant, and the blonde hair one is recessive..." I didn't really pay attention to her. Instead, I looked at the guy she was talking about.

The white-blond hair he had inherited from his father was messier than the latter's, some locks falling over his forehead. How had they managed to scape from the hair gel was a mystery. He wore a short black coat, in which's pockets he sank his hands, and dark jeans, blue enough to tell me that they were new. His skin was pure marble, not very different from the steam that surrounded us' colour. It was like seeing Jack Frost, from that muggle movie my sister liked so much, with a different and poshier outfit.

"So that's little Scorpius," Uncle Ron said, burying his chin into his turtleneck. "Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains." He kind of retracted at Aunt Hermione's protests. _Kind of._ Uncle Ron wasn't the type to let go of his points easily, even if it was for his wife's sake. "Don't get too friendly with him, though. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood."

Maybe I was crazy, but I knew that Rose wasn't going to marry Scorpius. Call it instinct, call it my imagination. It wasn't going to happen.

Free of luggage and as the good blatherer he, James popped up and started rambling about Teddy and Victoire and oh look they were snogging and do you think they will get together. Annoyed by the interruption, I mentally cursed him. Look, I loved our "cousin" Teddy Lupin to the moon and back, but I couldn't care less about his sentimental life right then.

After what seemed like an age and a half, he finally felt satisfied with the amount of gossiping achieved. "See you later, Al. Watch out for the thestrals."

Thestrals? My fear, which I had managed to tiptoe away from over the last minutes, came back and said 'Hey, you missed me?'. I didn't want to face invisible cannibal forces. It was an experience I could get through without. Though—"I thought they were invisible?" My voice was awfully shaky, but that didn't stop me. Running from a cannibal horse was bad enough, but running from an invisible cannibal horse was much worse. "You said they were invisible!" I accused him, trying to get a response. James just laughed and got away. Curse him a thousand times.

"Thestrals are nothing to worry about," Dad said to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "They're gentle things, and anyway, you'll be going in boats."

I frowned at the last sentence. Gentle things? Bloodthirsty beasts didn't match my concept of gentle things.

Mum kissed me goodbye, and Dad hugged me, too, but that only made me feel worse. I just couldn't. It was too sudden, too early, too much. I didn't want to face Hogwarts. Not yet. I didn't want to be eleven years old, and I didn't want to get into the train, and I didn't want to share a coach with a bunch of people I didn't knew and wasn't very sure I was interested in knowing, and above all, I didn't want to sit and have a talking hat sort me into...

"What if I'm in Slytherin?" I whispered. Dad, who was giving me advice about some Peeves guy, arched his eyebrows in surprise. What I had just done wasn't very polite, true. And I usually put on a very nice poker face and pretended to listen while I tuned in and out, true. But I _needed_ to know. Everyone was a Gryffindor in our family, and I was very afraid of being the exception that confirmed the rule.

Dad crouched down, so that my face was slightly above his. He stared right into my eyes, which were exactly the same shade of green as his but a lot less short-sighted. "Albus Severus," he began, "you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin, and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew."

Hystorical figures were nice, but how did this brave Albus or Severus relate to me? "But just say—"

"—then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."

No one had mentioned that detail before. Could you actually choose your house, instead of having it chosen by an ancient talking hat? Maybe I could consider leaving it to the hat, as long as I could hack his decision.

"Really?" I asked.

"It did for me."

Of all the stories he had told us about his school life—and he had told us many—, he had never said that he got to choose his house. Now it was a secret between my father and I, one which made me smile and calmed the roaring hypogriffs inside my stomach.

The doors were slamming all along, so I didn't have the time to say anything else. Together with Rose, who had been trying to loosen Hugo's firm grip over her tunic, I jumped into the nearest carriage, and Mum closed the door behind me. Most of the students inside were staring at my father. The Potter fever, I guessed. "Why are they staring?" I asked to no one in particular as I turned around. I already knew the answer, but anyway.

"Don't let it worry you," Uncle Ron said from the other side of the door, shrugging. "It's me. I'm extremely famous."

My sister and cousins all laughed, and I happily sniggered along. Uncle Ron was amazing, always ready to make us crack up with whatever comparison or joke he came up with. Plus, he always found a way to contraband with sweets when Aunt Hermione wasn't watching.

The train began to move, making me sick. My father walked alongside the train, watching me, smiling and waving, and never stopped. I lost sight of him when we rounded a corner, but kept on waving a few seconds more.

"Alright!" Rose clapped her hands together and grabbed mine, squeezing. "Time to look for a compartment. I suggest we go to the end of the train. There's proven data that they tend to be emptier than the rest. Mostly because people are too lazy to walk there."

Reassured by her touch, I laughed and squeezed back. "Won't be the one to question that. Let's go."

We elbowed our way through the crowd, which was excitedly talking about our parents.

"I heard Mr. Potter saved the school eight times!" one said. Wrong. It had actually been three times: during his first, second and last years. The other times, Hogwarts hadn't been at stake, though my father's life had.

"Well, rumour has it that the Weasleys had their fair share of heroicity, too. They helped Harry all along, and never left his side. That's even more admirable!" another one answered. True: Dad always said that, without his friends, he wouldn't have found the strength to do any of the things he did. Uncle Round proudly confirmed it, though Aunt Hermione liked to pinch him whispering, loud enough for everyone to hear, that he had lost heart once or twice.

That was one of the things I loved the most about my father. Even though he was a living legend, and one of the greatest heroes of all times, it hadn't gone to his head.

"I also admire Draco Malfoy, though," a girl whispered.

"Malfoy? But he was a Death Eater! I can't believe you, Kayleigh."

"I know, but you have to remember he was raised to be that way. Bellatrix Lestrange was his aunt, and Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort's most loyal servant, his father!" the Kayleigh girl said. "Plus, he wasn't bad to the core. When under Voldemort's direct orders, he constantly doubted whether it was the right thing to do, and even saved Harry Potter's life once."

" _Harry_ saved _his_ ," an annoyed other corrected her. "From a great magical fire _Malfoy's_ dumb friend provoked. Inform yourself before talking, Merriweather. My aunt died in that battle."

"I'm not talking about the fire," she replied. "When the Three were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix asked him to identify Potter so that they could turn him in to Lord Voldemort, and Malfoy didn't. Harry would have died hadn't he lied, and even though he had been his sworn enemy at school and it was going to earn him torture later, Malfoy lied. Beaufort Lesavant wrote a six-hundred-paged book on the Second Wizarding War and upholds that it happened this way. With evidence."

"Bah," someone said. "Death Eaters will be Death Eaters, and that can't change. If you work for the evil, you end up being evil, and that's the way goes. That whole family was, and still is, rotten. It runs in their blood."

 

Only when Rose pulled my arm I realized that I had been eavesdropping all along. Shame heated up my cheeks: it wasn't a very polite thing to do. In fact, it wasn't polite at all. I let her drag me to the end of the train, where, as she had predicted, the coaches were emptier.

"Choose," Rose said. "Two are completely empty, and there's only a boy in this one. He's sleeping anyway, so I don't think he'll be all over us."

Glancing over her shoulder, I saw the blond guy from before, his face half buried into a wool scarf. His chest, over which his arms were crossed, went up and down slowly. After the debate I had just heard I was curious about the Malfoys, so it didn't sound like the baddest idea to share a carriage with their son Scorpius.

"This one sounds great," I affirmed, touching the door. "We just have to make sure we aren't too loud."

Rose shrugged. "As you wish." She opened the door of the coach and slithered in, sitting in front of the Malfoys' only child. Patting the empty space besides her, she motioned me to come in, a request I fulfilled.

The padded seats were upholstered in red velvet, and at a corner was tuck away what must be Scorpius' trunk, one of which's silvery rivets shone under the light from the window. Houses flashed past on the other side. Whatever I was heading to, there was no going back now.

"So! What do you think Hogwarts will be like, Al?" Rose was the one who broke the silence. "I'm so thrilled! James' stories were breathtaking, and Mum and Dad's have always fascinated me. It sounds like a place where you can't ever get bored, can you?"

"Well, History of Magic is said to defy that." Uncle Ron always complained about professor Binns of History of Magic, and Dad always agreed. Only Aunt Hermione stood up for the teacher, but not even she dared say his classes were anything remotely close to bearable.

"Come on, we'll be learning about how other wizards fought cruent wars and made awesome discoveries! It can't be that terrible. Plus, Mom found a series called 'The Guardians of Magic' for me, which basically retold our history with cartoons. When explained well, it's very interesting."

"That's exactly the problem," I affirmed. " _When explained well_. According to our parents, the only thrilling thing he ever told them was the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

Smiling, Rose rested her forehead against the window, watching as blurry trees rushed past. "Well, okay, that subject can be boring—but hey, there are many other things to do. Last year, Victoire wrote to me about this place..."

We went on talking about our families' anecdotes and how we expected Hogwarts to be for hours, stopping just once to buy some sweets from a gentle old lady who pushed a trolley. We weren't even hungry, but to the present day I still haven't met a wizard who can resist a chocolate frog. Thank Merlin, Mum had given me a galleon for the ride.

"I only hope that our housemates aren't too over us," Rose said, sighing. I choked on my chocolate frog, coughing. "What? Don't tell me you haven't thought of that. We're the children of living legends, of the three heroes that freed the wizarding community to be more precise. People are always going nuts about us."

 _Well, about you, Rose,_ I thought. But she was partly right about me—even if they didn't know Albus, everyone recognized the surname 'Potter' at breakneck speed.

I swallowed the last mouthful of frog, which tasted bitter now that somber thoughts lurked my mind. Uneasiness built up inside of me as I played with the Agrippa card I'd gotten. Do you know this sensation you get when someone's staring at you? Like there's something pricking you, somehow similar to a stick pressed against your side. That's how I felt.

When I raised my gaze, I found the blond boy looking at me. His eyes, which were a silvery grey, were fixed on me. I looked away, suddenly self-conscious. Maybe he had recognized me as the peeping from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Whatever the reason was, it felt intrusive.

I reached for the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans box and started looking for a red one—cherry, my favourite—to keep myself busy. I hoped he would just look away at some point, but when I got the bean and rose my gaze, there they were, the silver full moons of his eyes. He was still watching me. Feeling uncomfortable, I glanced back down to the box. Maybe an empty carriage would've been a better choice.

After looking for three more red beans, I gave up my pathetic attempts at avoiding the situation and looked up again. Alright, let me say something: when a complete stranger stares at you relentlessly, it is, at best, awkward, and at worst, a form of assault. But when it's your family's enemy's son..., well. It's square awkward, at best, and at worst, a twice-as-violent form of assault.

Chewing my inner cheek, I handed him the box. "Good morning," I said. "Do you want some?" Stupid shaky voice of mine. Rose, who had been rambling some nonsense about her mental schemes on how she fitted—or didn't fit at all—in each of the four houses, quietened and looked at me.

"Thanks." Nodding, and took out a bright green one.

"Ew, grass," I said, recognizing it instantly. James had sneaked them into my peas too many times. "If you want to ditch it, I won't tell."

With a shrug, he smiled. "It isn't a very polite thing to do. Anyway, I've stumbled upon enough grass beans to grow used to them."

How sad is it to get used to grass beans? Seriously.  _Grass beans_. The fact that the boy staring at me was used to such a miserable thing helped me relax a bit, although I still felt violent. And oh, surprise—he still didn't take his eyes off me.

"Thanks for asking, Al," Rose gently scolded me, sorting a bubblegum one. Lucky girl. "I love you, too." Chewing the bean, she looked at Scorpius. "Sorry if we woke you up."

Shaking his head, he smiled. "I wasn't sleeping, so don't worry, you didn't. Plus, you were having a really interesting conversation. I've also heard that the Fat Lady sings at night. I just hope I sleep as far as possible from her —my mother told me she can sing real loud. Can I?" he asked me, nodding towards the beans. I shrugged and stretched my arm so that he could get another one. "Thanks."

"Liver!" I exclaimed, horrified. "You're jinxed today."

"I think I'm changing this one," he said, carefully setting the candy aside. He got another one. Cinnamon. Alright, not bad. If only he could stop staring.

Finally, I decided that blonds didn't have a monopoly on the Staring Business, and stared back. I looked into his grey eyes for what seemed to be an infinite amount of time, until he rubbed his neck and broke the visual contact. It suddenly occured to me why it was called such. "Oh, I haven't introduced myself. Sorry. I'm Scorpius Malfoy," he said, stretching his hand out. Rose was the first one to shake it, and then I followed suit.

"Rose Weasley," she introduced herself.

"Albus Potter." For obvious reasons, I preferred to skip my second name. Scorpius offered us a crooked smile.

"This must be some destiny irony," he mocked. "A Potter and a Weasley sitting with a Malfoy."

Rose nonchalantly shrugged, leaning back and peering through the window. The sun played hide-and-seek in the forest we were traversing. "I have the feeling that stranger things will happen this year."


	2. Chapter 2

"Getting back to Rose's point, which house do you think you'll be sorted into?" Scorpius asked, leaning against the window. A wide smile spread across Rose's face. You had followed her speech and now wanted to bring it up again? You got all the tickets for earning her eternal friendship.

"That's what I was trying to guess," she said, describing circles with her index. Rose's wand had been slowly but steadily slipping out of her pocket for a while and was now about to fall and get lost under the seats, so I took it and handed it to her. "Thanks, Al. All seem possible to me... Well, all except for Slytherin."

"Three houses at once? That's ambitious even for you, Rose," I laughed.

When she shook her head, the noon sunrays dyed her hair bronze. "Don't be silly, Al—it's a matter of filtering them according to your abilities and personality. I'm hardworking when it comes to studies, so I'd make a good Hufflepuff. I also enjoy learning and acquiring knowledge, which is very Ravenclaw-ish. And my family is made up of Gryffindors, so..." Rose shrugged, as if saying, 'You know, genes are on my side.'

They probably were.

Scorpius' knuckles apparently stopped being more interesting than us. "And why aren't you a potential Slytherin?" He looked directly into Rose's eyes, leaving her speechless—Rose Granger-Weasley, left speechless! Someone please take a photo, or better a thousand—for a second. Deep in thought, she pursed her lips. I could see her mind's gears turning.

It took her a few seconds to find an answer. "Well... Slytherin is for ambitious people who aim high, and I'm not one of them. I want to learn as much as possible, yes, but just for the sake of knowledge. I don't want to be great or remembered."

With a huge grin, Scorpius nodded, as if he were a teacher and Rose had given him the right answer. "You're the first person I know who says Slytherin is for people who aim high, rather than Death Eaters and thugs."

Feeling awfully self-conscious and awkward, I peered through the window at the last remnants of the forest we had just gone through. _I_ thought that Slytherin was nothing but a bunch of bullies and wicked people who went evil on everyone. Maybe I was completely biased because all my family were lions and not snakes, but Slytherin had always been a must-not for me.

The main reason why I didn't want to be in Slytherin wasn't because it was inherently bad, I realized, nor because I disliked what it pursued. No, the main reason why I didn't want to be in Slytherin was because I didn't want to be alone.

Maybe not realising my struggle, or maybe realising it fully, Scorpius didn't drop the topic. "I personally wouldn't mind being sorted into Slytherin," he went on. "Everyone has this horrible prejudice that Slytherin only fosters evillious wizards and cruel bloodthirsty witches, but hey, look at Merlin. Also, the other houses don't mean you are a decent person. Peter Pettigrew, for example, was a Gryffindor and turned out to be a traitor."

A traitor who got my grandparents killed and the Dark Lord back.

"That said, I think of Slytherin more in Rose's way. It's home to people who know what they want to achieve in life and prepare for greatness."

Rose's face shone like the Sun. Quoting her was Scorpius' second big step towards her eternal loyalty, and he had known us for less than two hours. At this pace, they would end up married before we got off the train.

"If you put it that way, I guess Slytherin isn't _so_ bad," I admitted, offering what aimed to be a smile but ended up being an odd and creepy face. "Have you ever thought of becoming a door-to-door salesman? Convincing people is your thing."

"Trust me, it isn't. I already tried selling lemonade when I was five years old and it ended up in disaster." Scorpius patted on the window with the knuckles, looking through it. "And, to me, Slytherin's problem is that its name has been stained by wizards who went down the wrong path."

Hungry and willing to change the topic, I shook the nearly empty Bertie Bott box and offered one to them. Rose sorted a whiteish soap bean; Scorpius' rotten luck made up for the liver bean and he got blueberry; I resigned myself to a sprout one; and we finally set Slytherin apart.

 

The afternoon flew by as we chatted. Time seemed to stretch, when in reality it was running faster than any White Rabbit. But nothing is ever traded in vain, and I dare say I traded my first ride to Hogwarts for a friend. Despite what people gossiped behind his back, Scorpius wasn't a bad guy at all. Things he wasn't: arrogant, big-headed, cruel, rude, into Dark Arts, trying to resurrect old Lord Voldemort. Things he was: carefree, witty, cheerful, laid-back, kind, extremely polite—and a Luna Lovegood fan, which totally got me.

"Wait, now," I said, both hands up. "You've read 'The Lost Crown' series?"

He nodded, his right cheek rosy against the window. A few shy stars already smiled to us from the dark night sky, and the moon conferred the forests we speeded past a supernatural gleam. "Only ten times or so."

Ten times? Why hadn't they told me that I'd find my soulmate in that coach? Ten times. I already worshipped the ground he walked on.

"I can't believe I finally found a Lunatic! Merlin, I've been looking for someone like you forever. Seriously, this is so amazing! Lovegood is a genious, isn't she?"

Besides me, Rose coughed in disagreement, pricking my bubble.

"Well, Rose doesn't agree on that. She thinks  _The Lost Crown_ is nothing out of the ordinary, and that I'm overreacting right now."

Her nod didn't allow any doubt on how she felt about Lovegood. "You are, Al—those books are just an overdose of incongruent fiction. Rowena's crown remained lost for many years, and was destroyed afterwards. Even if it still existed, a Muggle wouldn't be able to find it, much less use it. Such a powerful item would require a very strong magic, one that boy lacks."

Scorpius frowned, confused. "But..." I knew what he was thinking: _But Charlie isn't a Muggle!_

"Don't. She hasn't read the third book," I whispered furtively, as if it were a secret instead of a warning. Even if Rose disliked those books, she loathed spoilers with all her soul, regardless of whether she knew the book or film or series they ruined. She had gotten expelled from a library once for shouting at three girls who were discussing Prim's death—and she hated _The Hunger Games_. Scorpius wouldn't get off the train alive if he told her that Charlie was actually a Muggle-born wizard and not just a supermarket checker with an average wage.

"And I don't think I will. The main character, Charlie, was it...? He makes me want to slap him across the face with his own book." Rose fluttered a hand, as if to chase a fly away.

After eleven years of cousinhood, I still didn't understand how could she dislike 'The Lost Crown'. Nobody's perfect, I guess.

Sighing, Scorpius leaned back on his seat. "Merlin, Rose. That was like a dagger to my heart. I don't know if our friendship can overcome it." He dramatically took a hand to his chest, the other's back against his forehead as if he were to faint.

"Why are you all wrapped up, anyway?" Rose asked, non-discretely dropping the subject.

Scorpius didn't answer right away. He took his time, bending over to get another bean. The box was almost empty now that we had set all the vomits, earthworms, dirts and such apart, so he had to grab the box and tilt it to get a sweet. "Well," he carefully began, as if he were afraid of saying something wrong, "I've caught some serious flus lately."

Judging by my cousin's frown, she didn't buy a word of it, but she didn't say anything. "Let's hope you get better, then," she commented instead. "What's left?"

Biting his lower lip, Scorpius eyed the bottom of the box. "Coconut, popcorn, liver—I thought we had gotten rid of them all, put it with the others, Albus—sprout, a brownish one and... Grass."

Rose winced. Only one soap bean in the box, and she had eaten it already. There was nothing left for her there. "All yours, guys."

I shrugged and reached out for the coconut.

 

When we arrived in Hogwarts, closed night had already fallen upon us. The sky looked like a Christmas tree, packed with stars ruled by an enormous moon, and a cool breeze messed our hairs like a caring mother. The three of us waited until the train was almost empty, then went down. I'm no one to speak for Rose and Scorpius, but I'm allergic to crowds. Being squeezed by another four hundred students wasn't in my to-do list.

Hogwarts' Keeper of the Keys and Grounds and family friend Rubeus Hagrid was waiting for us first year newbies. His long curly mane was wild, but he didn't look wild at all. Actually, he looked like a very hairy toddler, despite the wrinkles carved in his fair skin. When he spotted us, he raised a big hand and waved. Scary how he recognized us athough the last time he came over for dinner was when we were eight.

"Albus, Rose! Over 'ere!"

Rose smiled back to him, but I facepalmed. This was definitely _not_ a good way to slip past. We approached Hagrid while my face started heating up. When he patted our backs, I almost collapsed to the floor; even though he must be ninety or so, he was much stronger than any other person I had ever met. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it did turn a little bit dangerous when he forgot to control his strength.

"How yeh did?" he asked, stroking Rose's head. When he retired his hand, her hair looked like a bird's nest. "I remember yeh parents when they first came—all stunned."

"Very well," she answered, looking perhaps a tad dizzy. It didn't surprise me. Her genious brain had undergone the Hagrid earthquake. "We have spent the whole day chatting and eating, so no complains. We also made some interesting friends... Even if their taste in books is terrible," she added, pointing at Scorpius with her thumb. Hagrid frowned, as if he were surprised to see him there. He probably was. Even though Scorpius' almost scary paleness stood out like a hippogriff in a flock of sheep, good old Hagrid was the kind of person to fail to notice that hippogriff.

"Yeh must be lil' Scorpius, isn't yeh? Ye have yer father's eyes. How is yeh?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Scorpius answered, shivering. "I'm a bit cold, but that's it. All I want to do is get in and have dinner. I'm dying of hunger."

"No, you're dying because you're freezing," I said.

Hagrid laughed, and his small black eyes crinkled. "Then let's get to the castle, that is. Wish we had more time to talk, but yeh have to get in. However, yeh're all invited to some tea this Friday. Yeh can tell me about yer firs' week then."

We nodded, and he turned. When he raised his hands to clap and call the other students' attention, I noticed a long scar that stretched across the back of his right hand. "C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years, follow me!"

 

Slipping and stumbling, we followed Hagrid down a slope into the blackness of the trees. It was dark enough to hide any kind of monsters, and I made an effort not to think of the thestrals. _No cannibal horses today, Al,_ I told myself. Just in case, though, I switched places with Rose, so that if they came out of the bushes and bit at someone, it wouldn't be me.

After a minute or so of stumbling over our own feet, we hadn't seen the castle yet. Almost as if he had read my mind, Hagrid called, "yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec. Round this bend 'ere, now..."

I can only say it had been worth the walk.

The narrow path we barely fit in suddenly opened onto the edge of a great black lake, whose surface was like a mirror reflecting the night sky above us. From where we stood, the forest appeared enchanted, not terrifying anymore. Atop a high mountain on the other side, like a beacon made of stone and magic, stood Hogwarts in all its magnificence. There was light on the other side of the lower windows. I felt a tickle in the pit of my stomach, the one you get when you stare at something stunning: the castle was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid warned us, motioning towards a fleet of little boats by the shore. Contrarily to what I had thought, the lake wasn't completely still; little waves licked the sand shyly. Rose and I walked to the nearest one, like the lazy beings we were, and sat at one end each. Scorpius followed us.

"May I?" he asked, rubbing his nape with a hand as he tilted his chin towards the small ship.

"Of course!" Rose answered. She offered him a smile, a genuine smile. "Why wouldn't you? Come here, by the centre. It will be more stable that way."

When Scorpius took a seat, he looked truly relieved. We waited until everyone had gotten on their boats, and I silently thanked Merlin when no one else came to ask us aboard. Had they found out who we were, I would've jumped off the boat and swum to the castle.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a whole boat to himself. "Right, then—FORWARD!"

The fleet started moving all at once, making its way across the lake like wooden swans. No one spoke, busy as we all were looking at the castle, at the moon's reflection on the water, at the forest, at everything. As we drew nearer to the cliff, Hogwarts seemed to tower over us.

"This is amazing," I whispered to myself. But I must've been louder than I thought, because Scorpius looked at me and nodded.

 

A tall witch was waiting in the entrance for us. Her pixie-cut blonde hair was much darker than Scorpius', and she was frowning already. If it wasn't impossible, I would've thought that we had already broken some rule. "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid announced.

"McGonagall?" Rose whispered. "But she retired already! This woman must be her daughter or something."

"Thanks, Hagrid," the witch said, offering him a small smile. She immediately recovered her original gesture. "I'll take them from here. First years, follow me, please."

We all hurried to catch up with her. Even though she was wearing the thinnest stilettos ever, she was faster than any of us. I wondered if she trained at nights, walking up and down corridors as long as the one we were crossing.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. Her breath didn't catch the slightest bit, despite the speed at which she walked. "The start-of-term banquet will begin in no time, but before you have your first dinner here, you'll be sorted into your houses. Take them seriously, because they matter. During your years at Hogwarts, your house will be like your family. Your housemates and you will have classes together, sleep in the same room, and hang out in your common room.

"There are four houses, called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin, each with its own history, each having fostered outstanding witches and wizards. Your triumphs will be your house's triumphs, and earn you points; but your wrongdoings will also be your house's, and breaking any rule will cost you points. When the year ends, the house which has the most points will receive the house cup, which I must say is a great honour. I hope that you work hard and live up to what's expected from you."

We stopped in front of a set of enormous wooden doors, which were impressive. Our pants muffled the blabber that came from the other side, but it was still audible. My palms started sweating. The idea of being sorted was scary itself, but the idea of being sorted in front of every Hogwarts student, from the first year to the seventh, was enough to make my heart race in the worst way possible.

"Wait for me here. When everything's ready for you, I'll come back. Please, be quiet."

As soon as she left, we started talking and commenting everything.

"Merlin!" I exclaimed, turning around to admire the long stone corridor behind us. Scorpius and Rose laughed.

"That's the perfect definition for this place, definitely," Scorpius said. "'Son, how was Hogwarts?' 'Merlin!'."

"I think that witch is Minerva McGonagall's youngest niece." Rose scratched the side of her nose. "Diana."

She was incredible. "Rose, just _how on Earth_ do you know that?"

A short silence followed my question. "Her name was embroidered on her tunique."

_Oh._

Scorpius laughed again, and I felt my face blush. It wasn't my lucky day, definitely. "Well, alright, but that doesn't explain how you knew she's First McGonagall's niece."

"That was a mere guess." The worst thing was that she was probably right. Defeated, I sighed and shook my head. I had had eleven years to get used to the fact that Rose would always be cleverer than me, but my ego still refused to accept it.

Someone screamed behind us, making me jump. A blonde girl, all blood gone from her face, was pointing at the wall. "What—!?" she shouted again.

About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another, hardly paying us any attention. One or two waved, but that was it. They behaved as if they hadn't done something beyond all laws of physics, but rather something as mundane as, I don't know, maybe using the door.

"This is going to be a moved year, I'm telling you," a fat little monk said. He was talking to a very tall woman, who wore a long dark robe and a tight bun. "There are just too many star children—Wait, are those the Three's children?"

I had managed to lie low during the Platform Nine and Three-Quarters scene and the train ride decently, but a ghostly monk had to spoil my anonymity and ruin a whole day of hard work. I mentally cursed him.

Everyone spun around to look at us, searching for whom the friar was talking about. Rose, Scorpius and I were the only ones who didn't turn our heads as if we were posessed, so it was pretty obvious who the star children were.

"Wait—are they...?"

"No way! My mother told me that Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley's daughter... Is that her?"

"Must be. Oh my!"

"The boy is a Potter, no doubt. My sister has thousands of posters of James, and this one is a shorter copy of him."

My brother and I were like the day and the night, and she was completely blind.

"The brunet, you mean. The blond one... Who is it? He doesn't ring any bell."

Everyone started making up theories and going nuts over our presence. Many stepped forward to try to talk to us, provoking an aglomeration. I looked at Rose for help, feeling like the walls were closing in while I choked. This was _exactly_ my idea of a nightmare.

Thank Merlin, when I had no less than seven pre-teen witches trying to grab my robe, McGonagall returned. "Form a line," she demanded, "and follow me. The Sorting Ceremony will start now."

I had never been happier to obey a teacher.

 

The Great Hall was magnificent. Floating above our head, thousands of candles lit up the room, and beyond them we could see the sky, plagued by constellations. Four long tables took up the room, laid with golden plates and goblets which were completely empty. People, though, didn't seem to mind this—they were chatting cheerfuly, and only a few paid attention to us. At the front of the hall was fifth table, at which sat older wizards and witches, presumably teachers. Professor McGonagall guided us to a four-legged stool which stood in front of the teachers' table, on which lay a patched and ancient hat. The Sorting Hat. One of my worst fears.

Everyone had fallen silent now, and the rest of the years were staring at us. Teddy and James sat together at the Gryffindor table, although Teddy didn't belong there; they winked at me, patting the bench. It made me nervous. They expected me to be sorted into Gryffindor, and I somehow did, too. But it wasn't in my hands.

Suddenly, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide, like a mouth, and it began to sing.

_"Maybe I'm no fancy bowler / but don't think that because I'm old / I'm only an old-fashioned hat / and won't be useful at all. / Come, sit here with me / and allow me a peek at your mind, / and I will tell you in no time / where you ought to be. / Maybe with the lions in Gryffindor, / home to the brave, / or perhaps you're an eagle, / and the wise Ravenclaws will be your true friends. / Hard-working badgers shall not fear, / as in Hufflepuff they'll find their way, / whereas snakes are bred in Slytherin / where they learn to achieve their ends. / So come, sit here with me / and allow me a peek at your mind; / for I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat / and I will speak your mind."  
_

When the Hat finished its song, we all burst into applause. It humbly bowed to each of the four tables, and then became still.

McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long parchment which nearly touched the floor. "When I call your name, come and sit on the stool. Put on the Sorting Hat, and it will tell you which is your house. Austin, Mary!"

A bronzed girl with curly blonde hair stumbled out of line, put on the hat and sat quickly. There was a moment of silence, and then...

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat. The second table counting from the left clapped, and several Ravenclaws stood up to shake her hand or pat her back. When she took the Sorting Hat out and set it aside, she looked like someone who gets dizzy travelling by sea and has just gotten off the boat.

"Bones, Geoffrey!"

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat again, and the boy rushed to his table.

"Brimstone, Peter" became a Ravenclaw, too, whereas "Cann, Terence" was the first Hufflepuff of the night. No one was sorted into Slytherin for a long time. Maybe they were all afraid of being bred in the house of snakes. "Hendlesworth, Penny" was the first one to be chosen for the house of the snakes, and only two more were assigned the green colour. Then, our turns came.

"Malfoy, Scorpius!" McGonagall called. The room, which had hosted a low but constant humming of chatter, suddenly became dead silent. Everyone stared at Scorpius as he sat on the stool and carefully put the hat on. It fell right down over his eyes.

The hat took its time with Scorpius, deliberating for much longer than with any of the previous students. Someone whispered besides me, "Come on, just sort him into Slytherin! We all know that he'll be just as wicked as his father." Even though all of me demanded blood, as far as I could tell punching someone wasn't allowed.

After at least a minute, the hat opened its rim again and shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table clapped and cheered. He smiled as he walked towards them, but he looked hurt. Maybe the stupid comment had reached his ears, but also something else. I mentally cursed whoever had said such a drivel.

"Mulder, Belinda" was put into Slytherin too, together with "Oakler, Mindy" and "Lynch, Ronan". After "Penthall, Marcus", McGonagall called my name. "Potter, Albus!" She had skipped the 'Severus', and was already my favourite teacher for it.

If everyone had fallen silent when Scorpius underwent the hat's exam, now they wouldn't stop talking. When I stumbled to the stool, sat and let the Sorting Hat fall atop my head, I heard James shouting over the din, "Hey, that's my brother! Good luck, Al!" Now that everyone knew I was a Potter, I was already condemned to be stalked, so I decided to forgive him on that.

"Hmm..." said a small voice in my ear. All the noise from the Great Hall vanished, and it was only the two of us. "Another Potter! You have always been difficult ones. I remember your father... You are much like him. You fit in more than one house, my child... Brave, there's no denying, and very intelligent as well. Not afraid to work hard, either, shall you set a goal to yourself. Where do you belong? Where should I put you?" Good question. Where did I belong?

I gripped the edges of the stool, thinking of my family, what Rose had said about each house and Scorpius' words on Slytherin. _'Slytherin helps you find your goals',_ he had said. It didn't sound bad.

"Oh, Merlin! Boy, you're the first wizard in many years to embrace Slytherin's meaning. Your courage and disposition would make you a very good Gryffindor, still, and your mind is also impressive. Ah, this is difficult... Hmmm..."

If the Sorting Hat himself didn't know what to do with me...

Nervousness died down while the Hat thought and occasionally made some comments about me, so my mind got sidetracked. I remembered the stupid comment about Scorpius, and it angered me again. All I wanted to do was sitting in front of him as I had in the train, so that I could look at him in the eye while I assured him that no matter what others said, he wasn't evil. Even some Slytherins had looked at him in disgust, and they were going to be his housemates for the next seven years. Because of his surname, he was already being judged, and it wasn't fair. I knew how that felt.

"Good-hearted, eh?" the hat annotated, startling me. "Thanks, my boy. It's settled. This may turn out very well or very wrong. Let's see what happens... Potter, it's final—you'll make a very interesting SLYTHERIN!"

The hat shouted the last word out loud. I took it off, relieved that it was over, and jumped from the stool to get to my table. Merlin, I just wanted to have dinner already. As I walked, I felt thousands of eyes piercing me, like lasers. It was like being back to the first minutes aboard the Hogwarts Express, but with infinite Scorpius Malfoys staring.

When I reached my house's table, Scorpius moved aside to make room for me with a tiny smile. I smiled back as I sat, and patted him on the arm. "Don't pay attention to those airheads," I told him, looking at him, as I intended, in the eye. "They don't know anything about you." Although I hadn't been sure before, his face confirmed that he _had_ heard the comment. "Seriously, Scorpius. You're not evil, but they sure are stupid."

"A Potter in Slytherin!" he exclaimed, changing the topic. Because I knew the previous hurt him, I dropped it and laughed at his statement. "Can anyone photograph this? To think that you were afraid of wearing the green..."

"Why? It matches my eyes."

We both laughed, and then continued watching the ceremony. "Weasley, Rose" was put into Ravenclaw, something that didn't surprise me at all. Rose had been born already belonging there.

 

After the ceremony was over with "Zabini, Blaise Jr." being put in Slytherin, McGonagall took the stool and the Sorting Hat away. I looked down to the table, and my stomach roared. The ceremony was over, so where was the food? I hadn't come all the way from home to sit in front of an empty plate.

A woman that must be in her fourties or so stood up, running her hands through her black bob. She coughed before talking. "Welcome home!" she said, smiling. "My name, for those of you who don't know me, is Bonnie Lancaster. I once was a student like you, and I'm very proud to see new faces yet another year here, with us, so willing to learn about magic. You are talented, my children, very talented, and each of you have an outstanding quality that has gotten you into your houses. But not only that—because each of you are special and unique. There will be no one like you  _ever_ , so do your best at being yourselves. Don't be afraid to explore, experiment and make mistakes, because that's what life is meant for. And, whatever you do, don't let the world bring you down or stop you. Rely on your housemates, on your teachers, on your families, on your friends—but, most importantly, rely on yourselves. Thank you!"

She sat back down while everyone clapped and cheered. I stretched my neck like a giraffe to search for Rose; she was charmed by Mrs. Lancaster's speech. When I waved at her, she waved back, smiling, and stuck both thumbs out, tilting her head in a silent question. Nodding, I mimicked her gesture, telling her that yes, I was moreless okay with being a Slytherin. Or, at least, I'd get used to it.

"Hey, Albus—Potatoes?"

I looked at Scorpius, confused, and my mouth fell wide open when he bit a roasted potato. Looking down got me even more puzzled. The dishes in front of us were now full of food, at a Grandma Molly level: roast beef, roast chicken, pork and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, salads of all kinds, bolognese spaghetti, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, lasagna, ketchup and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs piled now on their respective plates.

"Merlin," I muttered, not knowing what to eat first.

"There you go. 'Son, how was the food?' 'Merlin!'" Scorpius teased, laughing after swallowing some carrot.

"No, but really—Merlin! Not even my grandma cooks this much, and we're around fourty," I explained. I decided that the spaghetti looked too good to be ignored, and began serving myself large spoonfuls of pasta.

"How did it go with the Hat?" he asked, already working his way through another potato. "You were there for a good minute and a half. Someone even said that maybe you had fallen asleep."

I shook my head. "Not even the Sorting Hat knew what to do with me," I admitted. "It was confused. But I thought about what you told me about Slytherin's purpose, and I guess it helped. And you?"

"Very good," Scorpius said. "It said I had very clear goals, and that Slytherin could help me fulfill them—though he also warned me that it wouldn't be easy, being surnamed Malfoy. Anyway, if I really fit in here, I don't care about what the rest thinks. This is my house, and it's final. Complain to the Hat."

A paper plane crossed the air and fell on my plate, getting bolognese-sauce stained. I fished it from the red mountain of spaghetti and unfolded it, using my thumbs and index fingers only. It said: ' _Told you—you're a nasty snake! ;) -J'_. Rolling my eyes, I got a pen out of my pocket to scribble ' _Better than being a thick lion, definitely. -A_ ' and waved my wand to send it back to James.

"How do you do that?" Scorpius asked, curious. "Is it a Wingardium Leviosa?"

"Nope," I said, putting the wand away. "It's Vivamus Paper. I use it to send notes to my brothers. It's very easy—look."

I showed him how to do the movement, which was an easy flick of the wand, as if you were to open a curtain. Scorpius grasped the concept in less than five attempts.

"And the notes arrive well?"

"Of course. The spell makes sure that only the addressee receives the plane, and you should see it loop to avoid pesky owls."

He looked at his wand and then at me, smiling. "Great spell, indeed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm head over heels about the great welcome this story has had—thanks! I couldn't have dreamt of a better one. I love you! (Also, The Raven Cycle's Ronan Lynch cameo just because)


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, that was a great deal of a dinner," I said at last, leaning back on my chair. "Merlin."

Having devoured as if the world were to end, I felt full and stuffed. Scorpius had laughed when I said it, but I literally couldn't move.

Now he played around with his fork and a pea. Despite having eaten only some vegetables and a small steak, he looked satisfied. "Merlin, indeed. It's about time we socialize a little bit, don't you think so?" Ha, ha, no.  


During the dinner, we hadn't talked much—we had been too busy eating—, but I had felt observed all along. Rumours already spreading, people already making up stories about me, the constant rumble and furtive gazing towards where I sat wouldn't let me have dinner without wanting to someone with the round-tipped knife. 'But Albus,' you may say, 'that's only you being paranoid. You have no evidence for that.' Let me tell you what two Hufflepuffs were talking about when they walked past our table. _'Have you seen the Potter boy? Slytherin!' 'There must be something wrong. There's no way Harry Potter's son would be sorted in such a house.' 'Maybe the hat's senile already.' 'Yes... And he sat with Malfoy. Can you imagine anything more surrealistic?_

You still think I'm overreacting?

Still, I wanted to make some friends who weren't with me just for the fame. Most Slytherins didn't look that menacing and terrible, and if we were going to be housemates for the next seven years, we might as well be in good terms. Scorpius was a great guy, and might have been enough had my awkwardness been at its regular levels, but the food and the relax of having been sorted had shot some kind of ecstasy through me, and I felt like enlarging my social circle.

"Alright." I shrugged. "Why not?" There were many reasons why not, I knew. Only, I couldn't think of any right then.  


Smiling, Scorpius nodded and got up. "I know some people already. Blaise Zabini Jr. and Rory MacPherson are nice; our parents have dinner together every now and then. Alexander Parkinson is kind of cool, too, but gets really obsessed over the surname thing. He's very proud to know a Malfoy. I think he secretly hopes I'm into Dark Arts or something."

Parkinson sounded like a very sane person.

Relaxed, as if he introduced famous wizards every day, Scorpius took me to meet his friends. Zabini was cheerful, although I suspected he had some kind of hidden interest in meeting me, and I could barely stand MacPherson, who made make very cruel comments. What Scorpius saw in them was a mystery.   


"Sorry," someone said, touching my shoulder. I turned to see a pink-faced girl, with thick braids and freckles. "Is it true that you're Harry Potter's son?"

I sighed, trying to offer my best smile despite the tiredness that had begun building inside me. Goodbye, Albus, and hello, Harry Potter's son.  


"Yes," I nodded. "Glad to meet you, urm..."

"Jenny Harrison," she quickly said, wringing her pudgy hands. "I'm in Hufflepuff."

"Urm, cool."

We remained silent after, because I couldn't come up with anything else. I mean, how do you answer to that? How do you start a conversation with that? I finally came up with a, "Glad to meet you, Jenny. Really. See you around."

Jenny broke a smile before running back to her table, where a group of girls patted her back and cheered. Awareness that Hogwarts wasn't going to be an easy task built inside of me. I turned to talk to Scorpius, but he was already deep in conversation with his very tiring friends. I was struggling to decide whether leaving was worth getting lost because I didn't know where my common room was when Rose appeared.

"Hey, Al!" she greeted me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "So you're an Slytherin, after all! To think that you were so scared."

Relief flooded me at her sight. "I bet our family will be shocked. Not when you tell them you're a Ravenclaw, though. You were born there." And it was almost true; Aunt Hermione had obviously not given birth in the middle of the Ravenclaw common room, but when she did, she was casually visiting a Muggle reservoir for eagles. If that isn't a signal, then I don't know what it is.  


Aware that I was praising her, she smiled widely.

"Thanks, Al. I hope I can live up to those expectations! By the way, have you seen James? He dropped by to congratulate me, but I don't know you two have talked yet... If he says anything stupid, just tell me." She sounded determined to put my brother in his place. To be honest, she sounded willing to put my brother in his place. My house was a mere excuse.  


Laughing, I patted her arm. "Thanks, Rose, but I think I can take care myself. I don't know if you have heard about my hidden talent, but I'm really good at making things explode. James will think it twice before saying anything." She shivered at the mention of my _explosive_ abilities. We both remembered the uncountable times when I had blown up science projects, our mothers' plants, casseroles and even a gnome. "Anyway, he only sent a note. Nothing bad, at least for being James."

"Hmm... I'll have to check on him later. During the Sorting Ceremony, the boy besides me said something... Don't worry, I took good care of him... You heard it too, right? I feel sorry for Scorpius. We have to deal with our parents' fans and stalkers, but he has to deal with his parents' haters. People judge him because of his dark family history, and that's horrible. It isn't fair that he has to bear that. By the way, where is he?"

Scorpius was still talking to Zabini and MacPherson, unsurprisingly. I tilted my chin towards him. "There. He already knows those two."

Rose frowned, amused, and a playful smile stretched her lips. "Are you... jealous, Al?"

"Of those two?" I put two fingers inside my mouth and rolled my eyes, as if I were to throw up. "Trust me, there's nothing to be jealous of in them. The gorilla has a worrying lack of brains, and the midget is unsufferable."  


My cousin laughed. "If you put it that way, we're a much better company, I agree. But don't worry—we have seven years to make some other friends, it that's what concerns you."

Our relationship was a bit strange. Even though we had been together for eleven years, we never got tired of each other, and besides from cousins, we were also very close friends. We didn't really mind being together at school. It was one of the infinite things I loved about Rose: she never let me down.

She yawned, rubbing her right eye. "I'm tired," she mumbled, filling her cheeks with air. "Let's go to bed. Can you walk me to the stairs?"   


It was a rethorical question, because Rose knew I couldn't deny her anything.

 

Supposedly we were meant to follow our houses' prefects, and I, having done the complete opposite, got lost. The only reason why I didn't start my stay at Hogwarts being pathetically guided to my common room by a teacher was because I stumbled upon two older and very kind Slytherins.

"Isn't that the Potter boy?" one of them, a girl, asked. They were holding hands. Maybe I had interrupted something.  


He didn't look like I had. "God knows how he ended up in Slytherin, but it's none of my business. Hey, are you lost?" Was it that obvious? Ashamed, I nodded. "Come here. You're far from the dungeons, and I don't think you want to spend your first night sleeping on a bench. My name's Neis Adessi."

"Elise Santoro," the girl added, smiling to me. She had a very sweet face, framed by delicate blond curls. "My pleasure, Albus. Follow us."

She turned on her heels and started walking, letting go of Neis' hand to hug herself. Even though it was only September, it was chilly that night. When Neis took out his robe to give her his pull, my theory that they were together gained strength. They matched each other, plus the girl, Elise.... Albus. She had called me Albus. Not Potter. Albus. It wasn't a big deal, but it felt great. Like they were talking to _me_ , and not to an abstract someone. I know it sounds stupid, but for me, it was a victory. And only later would I realise it, but she had become my second new friend.  


We went downstairs, then turned right, then downstairs again, then left, then straight on, then left, then downstairs, and into the dungeons. The couple stopped in front of a stretch of the damp stone wall, which didn't look special at all. _"Sancta serpentes,"_ Neis murmured. With a slight cracking sound, a big chunk of the wall slided aside, leaving a door-shaped rectangular hole. A greenish light came from inside, groggily drawing diffuse shapes on the floor at our feet. Curious about it, I stepped in.

 

My house's common room was impressive. The pale light came from the lake, whose water looked black but through which moonbeams had no trouble passing; a large crystal wall let it illuminate the room. It was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps hung from  chains. Fire crackled in an elaborately carved granite chimney ahead, and several Slytherins sat around it in high-backed leather settees. There was a certain ambiance of elegance and sophistication, as if all Slytherins were from the royalty.

"Here we are," Elise said, opening her arms. She was smaller than Neis, so his pull looked baggy and loose on her. "Welcome to Slytherin, Albus. If you need anything, just tell us. We're going to stay up a bit longer, but you look shattered. The dorms are over there—you have to turn right, okay? Left is for girls. Good night."

They gave me a warm smile each before joining the people sitting around the fire. Following Elise's instructions, I walked towards the corridor on the wall immediately to your left when you entered the room, and turned right when it split in two. As I crossed it, I realised that I was being very lucky. I had found someone to talk to on the train, I hadn't been ditched by my cousin, a talking hat had told me how brave and intelligent I was, and my housemates were being kind to me. Who knew?, maybe Regular Doctor Dean Thomas had been right and Hogwarts would be good for me.

   


All beds were taken except for one. Everyone was snoring under their green sheets but for Scorpius, who was reading a letter instead. When he heard me enter, he set it aside and smiled. "Albus! I lost you back at dinner," he said.

 _Well, you were more interested in Zabini and MacPherson,_ I thought. But I didn't say it out loud. Even if his friends were dumb, he was a nice person, and I didn't want to mess up with him. Not after such a good day. "I went with Rose, then walked her to the stairs and got lost," I explained instead. "She's super excited with being a Ravenclaw. Don't tell her I told you, but she kinda feared not being put there. No matter how many times she tells  you that she fits in all the houses, she wanted to be a Ravenclaw."

Running a hand through his hair, Scorpius nodded. "Ravenclaw is her house—she's one of the most intelligent people I've ever met, and I've known her for less than twenty-four hours. There was no need to worry. Unlike with you..." He mischievously grinned. "So you got lost, huh? Who lead you here?"  


I took a sudden interest on the green canopy hanging from the top of my bed.  


"Elise Santoro and Neis Adessi," I admitted. "They seem very friendly." An unfriendly guy would've let me rot in the corridors, not guided me to my common room.

"I don't know Elise, but Neis is great. He's in fifth year, I think, and is my neighbour. He played Quidditch with me in my courtyard when we were little." Looking at his hands, he smiled, rewinding a memory I didn't share. "Spare me the thanks, but I saved that bed for you. Both MacPherson and Zabini wanted it, but I would rather sleep next to you than to MacPherson's smelly feet or Zabini's snores. No offence."

"None taken," I answered, happy that he had thought of me. After leaving me hanging to go with those two silly fools, I wouldn't have expected him to do such a thing. "I'm better than smelly feet and snores. It's a great honour."

"What—Wait, I didn't mean to compare you to them! Well, I did, but not in that way. I wanted to..."

"Scorpius," I cut him off, "I'm kidding."

"Oh." He didn't say anything for a while.

While I knelt down on the thankfully carpeted floor to open my trunk and get my pyjamas, he finished reading the letter. Sighing, he made it disappear with a flip of his wand. "Bad news?" I asked, pulling on the long-sleeved T-shirt. I sat on my bed turning my back on him to put on the trousers.  


"Kind of." I heard a tap on his table, but nothing else. That was all he was willing to tell me.   


Even though I wanted to know which bad news could possibly arrive on the first day of school, I didn't say anything. If he didn't want to tell me, I guessed he had his reasons. And he didn't need me to push it any further when the letter was already disheartening itself.

The moment my head touched the pillow, the mists of sleep sleep started clouding my mind. I hadn't realised how tired I was until then. "You can talk to me if you need someone to... listen," I managed to say with a groggy voice. I didn't hear his answer, because I fell asleep immediately after.

 

"Can you believe it? Seriously, dude! I don't know where on Earth did I go wrong, Al. I just don't know." Teddy shook his head. I patted his shoulder, unsure on what to do. On what to do and on what I _wanted_ to do.  


After my first day at Hogwarts, out of which, and as foreseen, only History of Magic bored me, I decided to go to the lake to relax and enjoy the views. Instead, I crossed paths with a very angry and tormented Teddy. I have a way with bad luck, seriously. Worried about him, I had asked what happened. I also have a way with asking the wrong thing at the wrong moment.

"Don't _ever_ get a girlfriend, Al. Who understands women? Victoire's so spoiled and complicated! She always zigs when you think she's about to zag, and I find it both adorable and nerve-wracking, but mostly nerve-wracking. You never know what will anger her! I was trying to be a gentleman, for Merlin's sake. It isn't my fault that Peeves decided to empty a pot of water over her when I was asking if she wanted to come with me to the Black Lake for a picnic!" As he spoke, Teddy grew angrier and angrier.

Chewing my inner cheek, I thought of an answer that could both help him and let me slip away from this awful issue I knew—and wanted to know—nothing about.

I didn't find any that wouldn't potentially ruin his love life, so I grabbed a stone from among the grass and handed it to him. "Here you go."

"What?" He stared at the stone and then at me. "Albus, how is this exactly going to help me out with Victoire? Does it have powers or something?"

"No. Throw it to the lake and, I don't know, count the bounces. You need to chill."

Instead of answering, he grabbed the stone, flipping it on the air like they do in the movies, and shot it towards the lake with a quick movement of his wrist. It flew its good ten meters without touching the water, and then jumped seven times before sinking. To be honest, it was one of the most impressive throws I've ever seen. It was also one of the most impressive angers I've ever seen.  


After the stone jumped for the last time, he grabbed another one and sent it flying again, and then another one, and another one. He didn't stop until there were no rocks left around us, and he then collapsed to the ground, panting and sweaty.

"Better?" I asked, crouching besides him. He growled and moved his hand, as if to say 'so, so'. I nodded as if I understood. "That's the thing about the pain," I said, quoting Hazel from 'The Lost Crown' in an outburst of inspiration and plagiarism. "It demands to be felt."

 

After the Afternoon of the Jumping Rocks, as Teddy and I decided to name it, things got better with Victoire. At least, I dare guess so, because he stopped crying about girls and their moodswings around the corners. Honestly, I was glader for me getting a break from those neverending rambles than for them getting back together.

Rose and I spent our free time together, exploring the castle while we talked about everything. Ravenclaw and Slytherin only shared Herbology, in which I hadn't been bitten by at least seven plants thanks to her. Professor Longbottom—it was weird to call him like that when it had been just Neville all our lives—tried his best to help me out, but it soon turned out that I wouldn't be a herbologist when I finished school. I was good at memorizing their properties, but when it came to a face-to-face, those wicked green things turned into my worst enemy.

The classes became less thrilling after teachers began loading us with homework, but they were still funny. I struggled in Charms, where my ability to make things explode showed up randomly, but managed to get through the rest without any remarkable incident. Potions was particularly fun. I didn't have to use my wand, so there were many less chances of me setting the class on fire.

Professor McGonagall taught us Transformations. In our first class, she explained that her aunt—Rose had been right—, Minerva, was an anymagus, and that she herself was training to become one. After turning a worm into a green pencil, she asked us to do the same. I felt bad over killing the poor thing for a week.

Finally, Friday arrived, so we went to visit Hagrid as promised. Rose and I were unsure on whether Scorpius would show up, as we hadn't really been together during the week, but he was waiting for us at the door when we reached it. "Going without me?" he asked, playful, even though he sounded hurt.  


"No! Al said he didn't see you at the common room, so we supposed that you would be either waiting for us somewhere or already on your way," Rose explained. Saying that 'we' had supposed that was being generous. Rose had supposed it, while I had imagined he would be with Zabini and MacPherson and thus wouldn't bother coming.  


"Well, okay, I'll trust you on this one," he said, mocking condescendence. Adjusting our house's stripped scarf around his neck, he jumped to his feet and sunk his hands in his pockets. "Let's go."

During the week, we hadn't really talked any further than chatting in Binn's classes and helping each other out in Potions, although we did use the paper planes. Scorpius' ones were always funny, with caricatures, jokes and witty remarks about things that had happened to us during the day. Mine, on the other hand, began with a _Hahaha_ , and basically answered his questions, told him whatever I considered interesting about the day and commented on his notes or Binn's moustache. Guess what? I wouldn't grow up into a writer, either.

Did that count as a friendship? I guess you could consider it as such. Apart from the planes, we talked when we got to bed. Not much, because I always fell asleep in the middle of the conversation, but it was something. As we hung out with very different people, the nights were the only time in which we could talk.

During those conversations, I found out that he was an only son; that his birthday was on January; that he had discovered Luna Lovegood thanks to a cousin; that he really loved his father, and so all the insults towards Mr. Malfoy saddened him; that he liked Muggle music such as twenty-one pilots or Snow Patrol; and that he didn't really want to be anything when he finished school. Surprised, I asked him why, because Scorpius was the kind of guy you expect to have plans for the future, but he only gave me evasives. _'Let's see what tomorrow brings,'_ he always said before changing the topic. Something made me suspect that there was a double meaning to those words.

As we walked towards Hagrid's house, he elbowed me to get my attention. I had been listening to Rose, who was talking about her housemates, but gladly turned to listen to him. I didn't really know Mary Austin, Peter Brimstone or any of the people she was rambling about, so Scorpius had actually rescued me. "What?" I asked, curious.

Instead of answering, Scorpius offered me a crooked smile as he took a piece of parchment out of his pocket. "Do you remember when we talked about Luna Lovegood herself?" I nodded, intrigued. "You said she was kind of a recluse?"

"Correct."

"Impossible to track down."

"Correct."

"Utterly unreachable," Scorpius said.

"Unfortunately so," I confirmed. The fact that he was using my exact words amused me. Rose had quietened to listen to us, and wore a strange grin now, as if she knew something I didn't. Which she probably did.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy," he answered. "I hope this letter arrived well, and that there were no nargles clutched onto it. They are extremely active during these months of the year, and tend to hide in the most unexpected places. If one has effectively reached you, please immediately get a pair of Dirigible Plum earrings, as they keep the nargles away. I am very sorry that I exposed you to this risk, but I could not resist using my mistletoe paper to answer to such a deary fan. I am now writing to you to thank you for your correspondence, received via Mr. Seamus Finnegan this fourth of September, from Hogwarts Castle."

"Scorpius, what on Earth?"

"She has this huge obsession with nargles, you already know that," Scorpius said. "And she has an assistant. Seamus Finnegan. I found him. I wrote to him. He gave her the letter. She answered via Seamus' owl."

"Okay, okay. Keep reading."

I was absolutely _not_ hyperventilating. At all.

"Given the amount of easy ways of entertainment at the disposal of your generation, I am grateful to anyone anywhere who sets aside the hours necessary to read my books. But I am particulary thankful to you for both your kind words about _The Lost Crown,_ and for taking the time to tell me that the books, and here I quote you directly, 'meant a great deal to you.'

"This last sentence, though, has led me to a lot of deep thinking about a topic on which I have not really focused my mind for a long time. What do you mean by _meant,_ Mr. Malfoy? What should a story seek to emulate? What is the purpose, my purpose, of writing? Of course, like all questioning intelligent people do, this inevitably leads to wondering about the humanity's origins and destiny, and to a lot of headache, for which I suggest drinking a linden blossom tea or a Dirigible plum juice. The latter, as I have said before, will also help you combat the nargles, which show up yet again in this letter. I assure you that these vegetables are useful for so many things that it would be a good idea to grow your own.

"I found it rather interesting than someone took time to actually wonder, and then wish, whether these hands have written anything else. To answer your question: No, I have not written anything else, and I do not know if I will. I do not feel inspiration coming, and continuing to share stories with readers when I myself am not passionate about them would not benefit either them or me. Thank you again for your letter. I was very happy to receive it.

"Yours most sincerely, Luna Lovegood, via Seamus Finnegan's owl."

I was left speecheless for several seconds. "Wow," I finally said. "Wow, wow, wow. Hold your horses, Scorpius, are you making this up?"

"Albus, could I, with my limited intelligence, make up a letter from Luna Lovegood featuring sentences like like 'this inevitably leads to wondering about the humanity's origins and destiny, and to a lot of headache, for which I suggest drinking a linden blossom tea or a Dirigible plum juice'?"

Rose laughed, and I shook my head, divided between amusement and shock. "You could not," I allowed. "Can I, can I have the adress?"

"Of course," he said, as if it wasn't the best present ever.

 

During our visit, all I could think of was writing to Luna. I had to make a big effort to follow the conversation, and while I even managed to slip in some sentences, 'aha's and anecdotes of my own, my mind kept on returning to the envelope Scorpius had given to me, which was safely tuck inside my pocket and seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. Luna's adress was neatly written on it, with the smooth and curly letter that characterised Scorpius' writings.

"Yeh alright, Albus?" Hagrid asked. "Yeh look distracted."

I looked up from my tea cup and tried to smile. "No, I'm fine," I answered. "In fact, I've never been better."

My favourite author's address was inside my pocket. If I was alright? I had never felt so euphoric. I sipped my tea to calm Hagrid down, even though it tasted like swamp water. The same fingers that held the cup were itching to grab a quill.

I spent one hour after dinner writing the letter to Luna Lovegood. It seemed to get worse every time I rewrote it, but I couldn't help myself.

_"Dear Mrs. Luna Lovegood (via Seamus Finnegan),_

_My name is Albus Severus Potter, although we may just forget about the Severus part. My friend Scorpius Malfoy, who is also a great fan of your series 'The Lost Crown', just received a letter from you at this address. I hope you will not mind that he shared the direction with me._

_Mrs. Lovegood, I understand from your letter to Scorpius that you are not currently working on any story, and that maybe you will not write any other book. In a way, I am afraid, but I am also somehow relieved: I never have to worry whether your next book will be as good as 'The Lost Crown'._

_I must say that 'The Lost Crown' has been a true inspiration for me all along. Not only Charlie's struggles to control his powers—which, as my class' official pyrothecnics expert, I perfectly understand—, but also Hazel's strength when she fights her curse, and Augustus' bravery when he tries to save her, even if he has to steal the Crown to do so. Whenever I read a page, the book has a way of telling me what I am feeling before I even feel it. With your story, I have learnt to imagine._

_I do hope that you end up gifting us another of your stories, although I know it depends on your inspiration and motivation, and that you currently have none. Of course, if you ever do so, I would love to read it. Frankly, I would read your grocery lists. I have not talked to my parents about this letter, but they do talk about you every once in a while, so I suppose that they send you their regards.  
_

_Yours with great admiration,_

_Albus Potter_

_PS. Thank you for the tips on defending from the nargles. If we effectively get some, we will make sure to apply all of them."_

After I dotted the last full-stop, I let Scorpius read the letter, and then carefully folded it, slipped it into an envelope, wrote the direction and sealed my paper hopes with wax. I left it on my night stand before we went to bed, as careful as if I were handling a piece of fragile glass. When I fell asleep, it was the last and most glorious thing that I saw.


	4. Chapter 4

Lovegood answered Scorpius' letter immediately, as hers arrived the day after he sent his, but four days later she still hadn't answered mine. Scorpius assured me that it must be because I hadn't asked clear and precise questions, and thus she had to figure out how to properly respond, but it still worried me. Maybe I had been too nosy, or maybe it hadn't even arrived, or maybe it had but she didn't want to answer because she found it rather childish.

Another owl arrived instead, almost pushing me into a breakdown when I anxiously grabbed the letter to see that it was from my parents: Mum and Dad were coming next day, and taking James, Rose and I out of the school for the whole weekend to visit Teddy, who had caught a horrible pox and was at St. Mungo's. Right after I finished reading my mother's gruesome details on Teddy's disease, some of which included detail information on his puking schedule, Scorpius entered the dorm.

"Did she finally answer you?" A small smile played in his lips as he looked at the letter in my hands. It quickly faded when I shook my head. "Oh, Albus, I'm so sorry. Don't worry, she'll answer sooner or later. May I ask what's the letter about, then?"

"Rose and I leaving for the weekend," I explained, sighing. "My cousin Teddy, you know him already, the Flying teacher, has a pox, and we're going to visit him at St. Mungo's."

Maybe I should have noticed he was absent before, considering how he had been in the hospital for two days already, but hey, we only had Flight on Monday, Thursday and Wednesday. Our terribly-set up schedule was to blame, not me.

He let himself fall on his own bed, which creaked as he bounced up and down slightly. "Is that so? How come no teacher told you?" When I shrugged, he shook his head. "However, I hope he's alright. Don't worry, he will get well in no time."

 

Scorpius was wrong: Teddy was already well. I mean, yes, he had this pox that was beating the knuts out of him, but he was just as sarcastic, impatient and quirky as always. When we got into his room, he sat up on his bed and waved as if he were the Queen of England and not an eighteen-year-old pranker. "Oh, my! Such high quality visits this early in the morning? I must be dreaming. Or better, I suspect Pox Perk."

My parents laughed, and Mum sat on the edge of the white-sheeted bed to kiss his cheek. "How are you, Ted?" Dad asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "The doctors made it sound like the worst torment ever, but you look just as usual."

Teddy shrugged, rolling up the sleeves of his pyjamas. "Well, I've been horribly forced to drink at least five nauseating potions a day, but they apparently worked. Oh, and the intership nurse was really kind, too..." He grinned widely, winking. "Truth is, I can't complain. How about you, Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny?"

While he and Mum listened to Dad talking about the latest meeting with the MACUSA representatives, I bored myself observing the room. The walls, painted a pale baby blue, were decorated with photos of fields gently messed by breezes, cliffs hit by powerful waves and a nurse's portrait, who smiled at me when she noticed my stare. Teddy's bed and the bedside table were the only furniture in the room; the latter was packed with bottles, glasses and a pot containing withered flowers. There was also a backpack on the floor, from which a pair of headphones and the corner of a notebook tried to scape. Knowing him, he was scheming new pranks while listening to AC/DC.

An old wizard waved his hand from a painting, catching my attention. I narrowed my eyes to read the golden plaque below: _Wilhelamus Wolframium (1877-1947). Discovered the cure for the Dragon Pox. Head of St. Mungo's from 1910 to 1939._ Impressed by his name, I raised both eyebrows and returned the salute.

"And you, Al?" Blinking, I snapped out of my trance. Teddy was looking at me with a warm smile. "How's Hogwarts? And the snake pit?"

I couldn't help but laugh at that. Considering that we slept in the dungeons, it _was_ a snake pit. "Merlin, Teddy, you're turning into an adult! You _asked about school!_ What'll come next? Saying that I've grown since you last saw me? Offering some tea?"

My parents exchanged stunned looks while Teddy guffawed. "The snake pit is good for you, Al. You're almost funny now. I won't offer you tea, but I have some antitoxin potions you might fancy... With or without sugar, dear?"

"With, please."

Rose smiled as well. With a flick of the wand, she resurrected the flowers on Teddy's table, which turned into healthy-looking tulips. "When are you getting back, Teddy? It's not the same without you."

Proud, he winked as if they shared a secret. Maybe they did. Sometimes, Teddy's pranks were intelligent enough to let me know his wasn't the only brain working on turning the world upside down. "I know. Don't worry, Rosie. My dear internship nurse has said that I'll be done here in three days, and trust me, she can't lie to me. Prepare yourselves for my awesome return until then. You'll need it."

"What are you plotting this time, Ted?" James asked, narrowing his eyes in a grin. "Something big, I can feel it."

Teddy rose his hands, pale palms facing us. "A good magician never reveals his secrets," he pompously recited. "I can only say that it's going to be grand. Awesome. Epic. Something to remember." He high-fived James, Rose and I.

"Great," James cheered him. "Tell me if you need help."

"Grown-ups are still here, guys," Mum said, looking amused nonetheless. "I don't know if I should tell Neville to warn the rest of the professorate. It sounds like a major prank."

"Don't," Teddy pleaded, pouting in the most puppy-eyed way ever. "It won't be as fun."

Even though any remotely responsible parent would've sent a letter to Mrs. Lancaster, at the very least, we all knew my mother wasn't going to. She only warned her when Teddy's pranks meant an actual harm to the school, the students or the teachers; if they didn't, she only asked him to send her a report on how it had gone. This used to puzzle me when I was younger—I didn't understand how my very strict mother let him do the things he wrote to us about. Not anymore; the day I dared ask, Dad took me apart and explained that he reminded her of Uncle George and his twin, Fred. I guess it was her own way of honouring the latter.

Someone knocked the door, and a stunning green-eyed blonde came in smiling, her arms nesting a bouquet of flowers. I shook my head to break free from her charm; even though she was only one-eighth Veela, Victoire still irradiated this aura that made you stare and drool enough to have to mope the floor later.

"Teddy!" she sang, smiling. "How are you? _Bonjour_ , uncles, cousins." She kissed my parents, Rose, James, Lily and I on both cheeks before giving Teddy the buquet and a sweet peck on the lips. "If my ears serve me right, I've heard something about a major prank..."

Teddy's eyes, who had been been staring at her with a dreamy look, went from lovebirdish to devilish. "Your ears serve you right, _mademoiselle_. I've already graduated, but thank Merlin they let me stay for another year. Pranking is even funnier when you don't have to worry about teachers lowering your grades."

Born in 1998 during the War, Teddy finished school during James' first year. Merlin knows how, he had managed to stay with the excuse of teaching Flying and managing the Quidditch, now that Professor Hooch was on sick leave—which basically meant that he had plenty of time to plan pranks, hang out with some of his former roommates, charm all of Victoire's friends by being an amazing boyfriend and enjoy Hogwarts' magic without all the exams and homework and stress, in general.

After Teddy and Victoire exchanged what must be key slang on the prank, we all said goodbye before leaving. "We'll come back tomorrow," my mother explained to us, "and you'll get back to Hogwarts in the afternoon."

"We're going to visit your grandparents before we get home," Dad added. "Grandma Molly wants to know everything about your first year, Rose and Al. She says she hasn't received any letter from neither yet, and she's really excited about you two being in the castle."

Rose and I exchanged ashamed looks. I had thought of writing to my grandmother, I swear I had, but the week had been too intense, having to adapt and all that stuff. Having forgotten about her, though, made me feel like the worst grandson ever. Good thing we were about to make up. Dealing with guilt wasn't one of my fortes.

 

"My children!" Grandma shouted when she saw us, the big smile crinkling her eyes. "How are you? Already great wizards?"

She was standing on the door of The Burrow, which seemed to be crumbling, as usual. All the floors looked like they had been taken from a different house each, so the building had more colours than a rainbow. The setting sun set our grandmother's impressively red hair ablaze, like her head was on fire. Even though she had left her seventies behind a long time ago, there wasn't a single white hair in her mane yet, something she was extremely proud of.

"Nana!" Rose cried, delighted. She hugged her immediately, grinning. "We missed you."

"A lot," I added, kissing my grandmother's small dimples. Some curly locks had fallen down her cheeks, something that ought to have been disgusting but surprisingly wasn't. Who knows. Maybe I missed her even more than I was aware of. "Food at Hogwarts is great, but between us, I like your pumpkin soups better."

Grandma smiled wider. "Thanks, dear. And now, tell me—how's school treating you? Are your housemates good? Do you already have your groups of friends? And classes? Tell me everything!"

One of the many virtues of my grandmother: she _never_ scolded you. Instead, she found a nice way for you to make up for, in this case, the lack of letters. While my parents and James sneaked out for a walk, Rose and I sat around the kitchen table, which Rose liked to call 'The Round Table'. As Grandma prepared a snack, I exchanged looks with Rose, chewing my lips. How would she react to the fact that I was a Slytherin? She wasn't the kind of woman who would disinherit her grandson for that, but I was afraid nonetheless.

I feared everyone's reaction.

She left in front of us two big glasses of orange juice, a plate with cookies and two bowls filled with milk. Removing her Earl Grey with a silvery teaspoon, she looked at us with a tender expresion and a calm smile. It was our cue to start.

"School's amazing, Nana!" Rose said enthusiastically. "There are so many things to learn! People are great, and teachers aren't as nasty as James said. Binns is a bit hard to digest, but not even Hogwarts can be perfect—even though it nearly is! Besides that, our subjects are very interesting, and the castle itself is wonderful. Al and I explore it in our spare time, and there's always something new to discover."

Nodding while she sipped her enamelled tea cup, Grandma tilted her head to look at me. "And you, sweetheart?"

"It's just... Merlin," I answered. I smiled at the private joke, thinking of how Scorpius would've laughed at it. "It's full of life and magic, and even though it's a school, getting bored is impossible. Even homework have their thing, really. I guess I'll get tired of it at some point, but it doesn't seem like it'll happen soon!"

"And your friends? How's that going? I hope your housemates are good kids... When I was in Hogwarts, there was this girl, Miranda I-can't-remember-what... She was the cruelest of cruel, really. It was such a pain in the neck to sleep in the same room as her. Once, Evanna Janis cast a spell on her that made her spit frogs whenever she tried to criticise someone. She got punished for the whole year, but didn't Miranda learn her lesson!"

Laughing, Rose grabbed a cookie and bit it. Only then I realized that I was so nervous, I hadn't even touched my juice. I took a sip, my shaky hand almost spilling the drink.

"Everyone's so clever and cultured at Ravenclaw! They constantly seek knowledge, and they like discovering new things and learning. Everyone helps everyone out, though there's some hard competition—specially among the last years. There's these two guys, Terence Marrick and Johanna Davis, that are constantly trying to overpass each other—they even have reserved seats for studying at our common room."

Grandma nodded. "It sounds like a good place for you, sweetheart. It's always great to have people who share your passion, specially if it's a passion for knowledge. Just be careful not to fall into that insane competitivity. And you, Albus?"

Heh, seemed like I wasn't going to get away with it tonight. Looking around at the tiled walls and the wooden shelves on which lay our grandparent's best set of dishes, I tried to think of a good way to start. Scratch that, I just wanted a way to start, whether it was good or bad or worse. The handpainted flowers on the dessert plates didn't give me the answer, unfortunately.

I cleared my throat, nervously wringing my hands. "Well..." I murmured. No answer had magically come to me yet, so being honest would have to be enough. "I don't know many people yet, but the ones I do, except for two, are good guys."

"Oh, come on," she softly pressed me, combing her ginger hair with a hand, "I need more details! Who are you talking about?"

Rose squeezed my hand under the table, giving me strength. I thanked the heavens again for having her. "Well, I've met Neis Adessi and Elise Santoro, from fifth year, and they helped me find the common room, so I'm guessing they're not bad people. I had walked Rose to the stairs and gotten lost. Also, Peter Brimstone is a witty guy, and... I hang out with Scorpius Malfoy, as well." I almost spitted the last words. "I mean, he's kind and funny."

"Indeed," my cousin said, helping me out, "he is, I can assure you. Plus, he has read those books Al loves so much, 'The Lost Crown' series. It's such a relief to have him commenting them with someone who actually cares."

Even though the last sentence might have come out really harsh, it was her way of supporting my friendship with Scorpius. As everyone considered Rose the one with the most common sense in my family, they usually trusted her loyalties and decisions, so you can guess that having her backing me up on this one was a great deal. Not feeling like puking _so much_ anymore, I allowed myself to breathe again.

"Little Scorpius?" Grandma repeated, sipping her tea. She remained quiet for quite a long time; to keep myself busy, I took a cookie and crumbled it. The poor thing ended up just as wrecked as my nerves. "I've heard of him. They say he's a very polite and clever boy, although he doesn't go out much, who knows why. Still, if it makes you happy, then I'm glad you two are friends. God knows he bears a heavy burden, the poor child."

There was no need to specify that she meant 'a heavy surname'. And it was true—ever since the comment during the Sorting Ceremony, I had heard an increasing number of people talking about him, and what they said wasn't nice at all. It was the exact opposite of my case: everyone chased after me and tried to befriend me because I had Harry Potter's surname. He had to stand up to haters and people not talking to him because he had Draco Malfoy's surname.

Then again, we were so alike, even in our difference; no one saw us as anything further than our families.

"I guess that means you're happy in Slytherin, Albus," Grandma finally said, grabbing a cookie. My face must have epic, because she smiled in amusement. "What? You thought I didn't know? James wrote immediately to announce it to all the family, and your parents told us, too. Even Grandpa has heard, and God knows he sometimes can't even recall the date. Sweetheart, if you feel comfortable in your house, then that's it. We won't treat you differently, or think you're worse, for being in Slytherin. It's true that many dark wizards and witches came from Slytherin, but also great ones did. Teddy's grandmother, for example. Merlin, Severus Snape, Horace Slughorn. You yourself."

"Thanks, Grandma," I said, truly relieved that she understood. "I feel good in Slytherin, really. Even though it has a kinda dark reputation, people is kind, and they work hard every day. Our common room is super cool, too—we get this green light because of the Black Lake, you should see it!"

She laughed and stretched an arm to mess my hair gently. "As long as you're okay with it, honey, I am, too. You're my grandson, and all I want is you to be happy. Who wants more cookies?"

When she got up to fill the plate again—Rose _did_ have an apetite—, my cousin smiled at me. I smiled back, relieved, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off my chest. Ever since I had begun facing my fears, such as Hogwarts itself, being sorted into Slytherin, being chased by people or telling my family that I was a Slytherin, I felt more at peace than ever before.

 

After Mom, Dad and James came back from their long— _long—_ walk, we all helped Grandma prepare dinner. While Rose and I set the table, Grandpa Arthur entered the house, his sooty face radiant with glee.

"Hello, hello, hello! It's such a pleasure to see my favourite daughter here!" He kissed Mom on her temple before turning to us. "Harry, it's always great to have you here, son. How's the Ministry? Are those dark wizards behaving?"

Dad shook his hand, nodding. "They aren't, but we get by. How are you, Mr. Weasley?"

"Twenty-six years later and you still call me Mr." Grandpa laughed. "Ginny, you chose well."

I don't know which was redder, if my mother's hair or both of my parents' faces.

"And how are my dearest grandchildren? Are you all doing fine?" While he talked to us, he left the tool briefcase he was carrying on the kitchen's countertop and began washing the Allen wrenches. James had been passionate about mechanics ever since he was little, so he jumped to his feet and grabbed an oily screwdriver. Grandpa made room for him stepping to the right.

"Aye, sir!" my brother answered while he rubbed the side of the tool with a scourer. They occupied the whole sink, so the rest of us just stared.

"Perfectly, Pops," Rose and I exclaimed. He didn't turn, but we knew he was smiling anyway.

Grandma, who had been serving the dinner at the dining room, entered the kitchen again. "Dinner's ready, dear! Leave those tools alone—you'll have plenty of time to clean them later. Come on, we don't want the stew to get cold."

As we ate, I heard the same anecdotes from my parents again, though my grandparents' were new. Grandpa was working on building a small engine himself, and spent lots of time talking to Muggle mechanics. He had even entered a course or two. Grandma pretended to be exasperated by his obsession with Muggle technology, but she smiled when he talked about how screws were too alike to distinguish them.

The talk went on over dessert. While we devoured Grandma's immense carrot cake, grown-ups started talking about their own time at Hogwarts. Dad and Mum's were the most thrilling ones, obviously, but our grandparents made simple things look like great adventures. Maybe that was why they sounded so fantastic.

"...And there he was, old Apollyon Pringe, with his candle up and this pissed off expression..."

"Arthur!" Grandma roared, pointing her fearsome fork at him. "Watch that mouth in front of the kids!"

He winked to us. "He was moreless like that."

When we were finally done, James, Rose and I helped clearing the table, and then each went to their room. I was buttoning up my pyjamas when a paper plane entered through the window. Curiosity shot through me as I grabbed it and carefully unfolded it. The letter went like this:

_"Dear Albus,  
_

_How's Teddy? I hope he's alright. Pox isn't a funny thing, and nor is having to lay in bed all day. At least he has a large family that visits; you're so many that I bet he doesn't get too bored._

_You've missed one of the greatest events of the year, I dare say—MacPherson has asked this girl from fifth year, Elise, out, and she has obviously turned him down. The thing is, he declared during dinner.., in the middle of the Great Hall..., and dedicating her a horrible poem he had written himself. I feel sorry for him, but I've never laughed so much. You should have seen Elise's face, she didn't know where to hide! Even McGonagall slightly chuckled, I swear._

_Moving on to more interesting issues, I know that you're awaiting Lovegood's answer. I'm sorry, Al, but she hasn't replied yet. I dropped by the Owlery on Friday and today, but no letter has arrived. She has sent me one, though, and I think it may actually be for the both of us. I've copied it on the back of this paper. Tell me when you read it! You're going to go mental!_

_Say hello to all your family on my behalf. Best wishes,_

_Scorpius."_

I smiled at the nickname. _Al._ I could already imagine him calling me Al. It didn't sound bad. Better than Albus... It felt more personal, more like we were actual friends.

When I reached the Luna-hasn't-replied part, I felt disappointed that she hadn't answered yet. Maybe she wasn't going to. And it puzzled me. According to my parents, they had been good friends, so I didn't understand why wasn't I getting a response. When I read that she may have written Scorpius' for the both of us, though, I got as nervous as if she had sent it to _me_. Gulping down the lump in my throat, I turned the parchment and began reading.

_"Dear Albus Potter,_

_How is your family doing? I know that it is not a very good starter of a response to a fan letter, but as you may now, your parents and I are friends and fought side by side to take Voldemort down, so I am curious about you. Hopefully you are alright. Your parents' wedding was wonderful and promised a good life without any further risk, such as another Dark Lord or a pet Blast-Ended Skrewt, so I do wish you have achieved it._

_Thank you so much for your kind words on my book. I must confess that receiving your letter via my dear friend and secretary Seamus Finnigan has delighted me. What a wondrous thing to know that I made something useful to you—to both of you. I believe that you are connected to Mr. Scorpius Malfoy, who has also written to me and who you have mentioned gave you my address. It makes me glad to know that you have, and I am quoting you directly, "learnt to imagine" with my books. The mind holds a very special power: develop it and use it well. Your friend has also spoken very kind words about 'The Lost Crown'. The two of you are very sweet boys, and I would like to meet you someday.  
_

_Should you find yourselves in Salazar's Pit, please do pay a visit at your leisure. Even though I am a Magizoologist, a wife and a mother, I usually find some time for myself on Fridays, around dusk. I would even allow you a peek at my grocery lists._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_Luna Lovegood."_

I stared at the letter for a whole thirty seconds before pounding the wall. Rose, who slept in the rom next to mine, stormed in almost immediately, her night gown floating behind her. "What got into you?" she growled, rubbing her left eye.

"Read this," I told her, handing out Luna's letter. She yawned as her eyes danced across the paper, and as she made her way through it, they opened wider and wider.

"Isn't this...? Is it?" she stuttered, all colour gone from her face. I nodded, just as excited as she was. "Oh my God, Albus! This is—Luna almost _never_ answers the letters personally! I mean, everyone gets their response, but she usually gives her assistant two or three key sentences and lets him make up the rest, or it's her husband Rolf who writes back. She's kind of super busy, yet she has taken her time to write you _this_!"

"I KNOW!" I squealed, feeling excitement tickling through my veins. "This is too much! A dream come true!"

Rose smiled, reading the letter again. When she reached the bottom of the page, she laughed. "I'm starting to seriously worship Scorpius," she said. Curious, I read a sentence I hadn't seen before, written as it was in a very tiny letter.

 _"PS._ Maybe _the letter was yours,_ maybe _she did answer and_ maybe _it was written for you and only you. Watch the nargles; this is the original letter. —S"_

I inhaled deeply. Even though Scorpius had tricked me into believing that Luna Lovegood loathed me or something similar, this was the best present ever, and it wasn't even a present. Closing my eyes, I mouthed my favourite part of the letter: _'Should you find yourselves in Salazar's Pit, please do pay a visit at your leisure. I would even allow you a peek at my grocery lists.'_

Luna Lovegood had invited me to go to her house and read her grocery lists. _  
_

_Merlin. Merlinious Merlin._

 

When the excitement finally turned down a tad, I grabbed a piece of parchment and began writing a response.

_"Dear Scorpius,_

_I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! You just pulled the cruelest prank ever! I thought she must hate me. Thank Merlin there are great news that make me want to slaughter you filthy being slightly less._

_SHE INVITED US TO VISIT HER! Can you believe it? If we manage to get there, we'll_ meet _Luna Lovegood and_ talk _to her! It's a dream come true. A whole life of dreaming come true. It's just... I can't even describe this feeling in the pit of my stomach. We have to get there, Scorpius. We_ must _get to Salazar's Pit._

 _MacPherson's declaration sounds like some great fun (not for him, obviously); it's such a pity that I missed it. Laugh at him a tad for me, will you?  By the way, does he know that Elise is dating a guy called Neis Adessi? They were holding hands when I met them in the corridors._ Maybe _someone should have told him. Oops._

_I'll get back tomorrow afternoon, so expect a very excited Albus for dinner. Teddy's more than fine, thanks for asking! He's already planning on how to pull some big prank on everyone, and I suspect my cousin Victoire has something to do with it this time. Those two are masterful criminal minds, so trust me—it's going to be a great spectacle.  
_

_Thank Merlin I don't send you a swarm of nargles,  
_

_Al."_

"Vivamus Paper!" I spelled when I finished. The parchment folded itself into a paper plane and then disappeared into the night, scaping my room through the window. I watched the white dot until it faded among the stars and the dark skies. It was a truly beautiful night, to be honest, so I kept on stargazing until, almost without noticing, I fell asleep. But not even in my dreams could I forget about the mindblowing letter.

_Should you find yourselves in Salazar's Pit, please do pay a visit at your leisure._

This was _so_ incredible. So very incredible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys—thank you very much for the great welcome TFIOW has had! I didn't expect such a response, you always manage to startle me. I love hearing what you think about my work, so please do feel free to leave comments—I read and answer them all, I promise!


	5. Chapter 5

"I gotta go," I announced during the breakfast. My parents and I were alone in the kitchen; Grandma had dragged Grandpa along to the market to buy groceries for the royal lunch she was planning on cooking for us, and neither Rose nor James were up yet. The three of us sat around The Round Table, surrounded by grey splashbacks and mahogany cupboards. As we had used it for dinner last night, Grandma's handpainted set of plates wasn't on the shelves anymore, but on the table still. Everyone had been too tired to spend twenty minutes with cleaning spells.

"Go where?" she yawned, nearly pouring the coffee out of her mug. Thank Merlin, Dad was a tad more awake, and prevented Grandma's ear-splitting shriek at the sight of her beloved table doused in decaffeinatto with a flick of his wand.

I couldn't really blame her for being sleepy, as I was exactly as much of a zombie every day until two hours passed. The only exception had been that night, unable as I had been to sleep. Every time I managed to distract from the letter, I thought of something that reminded me of 'The Lost Crown', or Lovegood's obsession for nargles, or Slytherin, and that got me back to Salazar's Pit. Having the Queen of England inviting you over to have tea must be as mind-blowing.

Still almost snoring, Mum leaned over the table to serve some me some milk — luckily in my glass and not all over the table—as I told her about Lovegood's letter. "She said she would chat with me about her books and projects _personally,_ and then _invited me to Salazar's Pit_." I explained this with special care to Mum, trying to get her to understand how miraculous it was. "Not going isn't an option, Mum."

She nervously looked at Dad before answering. Her sleep-clouded eyes were gone, defeated by an increasing concern. "Albus, we love you, and you know we'd do anything for you, but you've just begun your first year and you can't—we can't take you two there. Even if we agreed to take _you,_ which I don't think is going to happen, we don't know what the Malfoys have to say about it. Maybe they don't want to—"

"To make their child happy?" I cynically asked. "Scorpius is a great guy. He's very polite, nice and kind. I'm sure that they won't have any problem letting him come with us. He won't cause any trouble."

My father inhaled slowly, tapping the table with the tip of his teaspoon. "Son, it's not that he'll cause trouble. We don't have a very stable relationship with the Malfoys, and haven't talked to each other for a long time. We're almost like strangers, and I don't think they want to leave their son with a stranger. Plus—"

Even though it had been the one sound to lullaby me to sleep for many years, I suddenly hated my father's voice with all my soul. It was condescending, and I couldn't stand condescendence. Specially not when talking about the only friend I had made at Hogwarts.

"Yeah," I said, cutting him off. Now that I thought it twice, it had been silly of me to even dream of it coming true. Asking for a new brother would've stood better chances. "Don't worry about it."

They exchanged a worried look. "It's really important to you, isn't it?" Mum softly said sitting next to me, a hand on my leg.

"It would be pretty amazing," I nodded, reluctance still very present in my voice, "to be one of the few readers to actually _meet_ her and talk to her. See her genious mind working live."

"Yes, it would," she agreed. My father sat to my right and nodded, sipping his own mug of coffee. "I can try to talk to McGonagall and the Malfoys."

"No, don't. Seriously. You're right. We don't even know his family, and it's only my first year and I've already lost enough study time. _You_ don't even know him." I couldn't help the reproach in the last sentence. I was behaving like a spoiled child who doesn't get the newest broom and it was unfair, but the whole situation arose bile in the pit of my stomach.

Fortunately, they didn't insist. Saying that I wanted to dress up and go out for a walk while I dropped my cup and a plate full of crumbs and sticky messes of peach jam in the sink, I left as quickly as my legs allowed me to and didn't even look at my parents. I couldn't handle their _We-can't-make-our-son-happy_ puppy faces.

A storm had broken out during the night—the one I had listened to during most of my insomniac tossing-and-turning— and left very nice-looking pools. I jumped onto them as I walked. It had been one of my favourite things to do as a child, and it usually helped me think. As I leaped from puddle to puddle, I thought that _maybe_ I had been a bit unrealistic.

Draco and Dad had been sworn enemies for several years. even if they were polite to each other now. That didn't mean that I had to be enemies with Scorpius, of course, but this logic worked both ways. My friendship with Scorpius didn't mean they had to be BFF's all of a sudden. And I personally wouldn't take my former enemy's son with me on a trip, so I couldn't really blame my parents for trying to avoid so.

Still, Lovegood's letter had been so amazing... While I stared at the hill behind our house and the solitary tree that crowned it, I thought of her letter again. I had spent the whole night metaphorically dreaming of meeting my favourite author, imagined so many scenarios with such passion that they were almost memories now, more than mere what-ifs. All of were wonderful, and now I wouldn't get to see any become true.

 

When Grandpa and Grandma came back, it was almost one o'clock, and James and Rose were still asleep. While all four grown-ups cooked the beef Wellington with garnish, I went upstairs to throw some pillows at them. I knew my parents were telling my grandparents our breakfast conversation and that Grandma was definitely on my side, but I didn't want to eavesdrop. The higher my hopes got, the harder they would fall. And also, eavesdropping meant smelling what they were cooking all along, and I was hungry already without undergoing that torture.

"Rose! Wake!" I called as I entered the warmth of her neat bedroom, grabbing the pillow underneath her head and pulling it away. She only grunted slightly. "ROSE!"

I ended up hitting her with the pillow over and over again. It took a whole five minutes to get an intelligent response—something more elaborated than a 'huh'.

"What's up, Albus?" she groggily asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Not you," I snorted. "It's one o'clock! I've been trying to wake you for _ages._ "

She blinked, yawning. "Oh. I can smell of roast beef." Rolling on her back, she grabbed the blankets to get back to sleep, but I grabbed the white sheets and gave them a harsh pull, leaving Rose without anything but her pyjamas on.

"Don't you dare," I barked. "I want you properly dressed and downstairs in ten minutes, and I'm serious."

I stood there, arms crossed and still as a Bobby, until she got on her feet and started looking for her school uniform.

Already knowing the upcoming battle I'd have to fight, I went to James' room. As usual, it was as if a hurricane, and not my brother, had slept there. There were clothes and sheets wherever you stepped, and the pillow lay atop the wardrow, which stood on the opposite corner of the room. The bedspread was on the floor, creased. I didn't want to know where his school books might have ended up.

James lay on the bare matress, with the pyjama shirt unbuttoned halfway down to his belly and the mouth wide open. A thin trail of drool flowed from the corner of his lips to the spot right under his ear, from which it dropped to the bed. It was a pretty pathetic spectacle and, for a moment, I felt tempted to take a picture and show it to all his fans.

Unfortunately, James had always had the finest ear when it came to noticing people entering his room, and he woke before I could do anything. "What are you doing here?" he asked, completely awake now. Considering that the last time I entered his room like this was to slip a Dungbomb under his bed, he was completely justified.

"It's one o'clock, James," I said. "You have to go downstairs for lunch."

He pouted. "But I'd rather sleep more."

Grabbing his uniform shirt and throwing it to him, I shrugged. "Yeah, and I'd rather not have to wait for you to eat. You can't always get what you want. Dress up."

As I exited the room, I heard him shout, "spoilsport!"

 

The lunch was somehow tense. My parents didn't talk much, and even though Grandma tried to make up for it with extra rambling on the market and the rise on the prices, there was a thick atmosphere. The fact that they didn't say anything out loud made it all feel even wronger.

Before we left, Rose and I promised at least weekly letters. Grandma hugged us both—James always fled from her when it came to goodbyes—, and when I was between her arms, she patted my head and whispered, "I only want you to be yourself, Albus." To the present day, I still haven't been able to find out why she said that, but those words reached my heart. I squeezed her podgy body in response, thankful for such a great grandmother.

James didn't stop asking whether he could stay with Grandma and Grandpa even after we landed in Hogwarts. Mum, who was dusting the last remainders of the Flu Powder off her shirt, rolled her eyes before snapping that he wouldn't leave Hogwarts until he finished his seventh year.

"And what about summers?" he went on, playing witty.

"Don't go all smart on me, James Sirius Potter," she warned him, "or you _will_ spend your summers at Hogwarts with Mr. Filch. He's old enough to need a pair of young, strong hands to help him keep this place clean."

James, Rose and I all shivered at the single mention of Argus Filch. He was already old when my parents attended school, so he must be ancient by now—still, he was able to chase after prankers and mischievous students surprisingly well. I swear his senses were superhuman; he could see your nervousness, hear you hiding, smell your fear, taste your terror and stop your heart when he grabbed your arm with those cold and gnarled fingers of his.

"Well, kids, you'd better be going now. We're busy today, and you must do the homework you haven't finished at The Burrow." After kissing their cheek, the three of us turned on our heels to get out of the director's room and into our common rooms, but I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Albus, can we talk to you?"

Rose tilted her head and opened her mouth as if to ask what on Earth was going on, but she closed it when I shook my head and drew circles with my index fingers around each other. Understanding that I'd tell her later, she left along with James.

I turned again to face my parents.

"Albus, son..." my mother began. "We know that you love Luna's books. Also, we trust you when you say that Scorpius Malfoy is a good boy. The thing is, Salazar's Pit is very far from here, and your father and I are very busy at work. We want you to be happy, but we can't help you right now in _that_ aspect of your happiness."

Sighing, I nodded. I had expected that answer. "It's fine, Mum, it doesn't matter."

"Anyway, Albus," Dad said, taking the relay, "we have talked it through and found a sort of plan B that might work. Do you want to hear it?"

I nodded, curious. Maybe we were going on a family trip.

"We've talked to Luna, and she's on an expedition to look for... Kalernorls, were they?" He creased his nose and looked at Mum, who shrugged. "Anyway. She won't be home until next September or so, so you can't visit her now. The thing is, if you pass this year with good marks, we will _try_ to arrange a meeting with her so that you guys can go next October or so.

"I know it seems very distant, and you are anxious to meet her—but right now, this is the best we can do. Do you... do you agree?"

"Agree on what?" I asked, confused. I had lost the thread at the Kalernorls part, so I didn't know what he was talking about.

"If you pass this year with good marks," he repeated, "we'll arrange things so that Scorpius and you can visit Luna next October. Are you okay with that?"

If I was alright? Forty-eight hours ago, I was stuck thinking that I'd never get a reply to my fan letter, leave alone an invitation to visit Lovegood. And they were asking me if I was okay with visiting her in a year? It was already more than I had at the beginning. How could I not be alright with that?

"Of course I am!" I exclaimed, grinning. I jumped and hugged my mother, whom I caught off-guard. She laughed, surprised, before hugging me back. "It's—It's wonderful! Thanks!"

"You're welcome, son," she answered, stroking my hair. When I raised my eyes to meet hers, they had a faint gleam. It took me a while to realise that they were teary. "I'm... I'm glad you made friends here. Really. Don't think we have problems with Scorpius, because it's not like that. He isn't his father, and if you say that he's kind and nice, we trust you. We're sorry if you felt it was all because of him."

Swallowing to get rid of the knot in my throat, I let her kiss my cheek before she let go of me. Dad, who had nodded in agreement to her words, kissed me too. "Whatever you do, son, we're with you," he told me with a shy smile.

"I have to get back to my common room," I said. Scorpius was there, probably, and I couldn't wait to break the news to him. "Thanks for everything, Mum, Dad. Really."

"We love you, dear," Mum said. "And now, go down there and do your homework. Remember your part of the deal—good grades starting _now_."

With a nod, I turned and abandoned the principal's room. I ran downstairs, tripping over my own feet every three steps, anxious to get to the dungeons and find Scorpius. He would love this. I _knew_ he would.

 

"Scorpius!" I called, slamming the dorm's room open. "I'm back, and I have some great news."

MacPherson, who had apparently been taking a nap on his bed, shot me a dirty look before getting up and leaving. My friend, on the other hand, was reading a machine-written letter, and rose his gaze as soon as I pronounced the first syllable of his name. When he smiled, the room seemed to light up. Was it legal to have such white teeth? Was it even possible? My procrastinator self wondered whether he charmed them everyday. That would explain why he took ages to get out of the bathroom.

"Hey, Al! You're back—how's Teddy?"

"He's alright, but who cares. Listen, I have something to tell you," I said, sitting on the edge of his bed. He slipped the letter into its envelope and put it on the nightstand before crossing his legs, Indian-style, and looking at me. I noticed his Snitch-patterned socks—they looked awesome, and I made myself a mental note to put them in my Christmas list.

"I'm impressed by your love towards your cousin. What's the big deal?"

Smiling, I allowed myself a couple of seconds. Just for the drama. "I've talked to my parents about Lovegood's invitation to her house. Well, I tried to, but they were all noes and I wanted to throw myself off a cliff, but then—"

"Invitation? Which one?" Oh! So he hadn't read my letter. That was surprisingly kind from him. If it were his the one to arrive, I would've honestly opened and read it without any further hesitation. I felt kind of ruin when I realised that. He must have not received the paper airplane, either. Maybe it didn't work for such long distances, or maybe it was still flying around and would reach him in the most unexpected moment, like in Herbology while we pruned Medusa Bonsais.

"Lovegood has invited us to visit her at Salazar's Pit!"

"You can't be serious," he said. He waited for some 'Ha-ha-you-fell', with a crooked smile, but it soon turned into an astonished face when he slowly realised that I was _completely_ serious. "No. There's no way—"

" _Should you find yourselves at Salazar's Pit,"_ I recited, taking the letter out of my pocket so that he could read it, " _please do pay a visit at your leisure._ "

"There's no way!" he exclaimed, excited. "Really? Grab the essentials. We're leaving now."

"Wait," I laughed. "Salazar's Pit is pretty far from here, Scorpius. It's about three hours in train from here, and then a walk. We can't just grab our favourite book and leave. Wish we could."

He pouted. "Oh. I was already facing the terrible choice of which book should I bring. _The Long Lost Last Hope_ is my top candidate, by the way."

"Mine is _The Echoes Of the Ebony Empire,_ " I said, a bit disgusted by his choice, "but anyway, you'll have plenty of time to decide. My parents told me that Luna's on an expedition to discover these things..., Knatsomethings..., and that she won't be back until next September."

As his eyes went almost blank from impression, his jaw tried its best to split from the rest of his skull and drop to the ground. " _WHAT!?_ That's a full year! What the wizards were the good news!?"

"Wait," I told him, raising a hand. "The good part comes now. They told me she was on her quest for the Knatwhatevers, but that if I got good grades and all that stuff parents love so much, they'd take us to Salazar's Pit to meet her next year."

"That's cool," he replied, voice shallow and free from any emotion. Clearly he hadn't listened to my pronoun choice.

"I don't think you heard me. They'll take _us_ to Salazar's Pit, Scorpius. _Us. U S._ As in United States, but far from meaning United States."

While it sank in, his face progressively lit up, first shyly and then with fierce colours. "Is that _us_ what I think it is?" I slowly nodded, grinning. "Merlin. Oh, Merlin. Oh, Magical Merlin! We're going to meet Lovegood! We're going to actually _meet_ her!"

Scorpius started bouncing on the bed, shaking his wrists so that his hands swooned up and down.

"We're talking about _Luna Lovegood_!"

"I know!" I answered, nodding like one of those creepy XXL size-headed figures of the Queen that tourists, for some reason beyond my humble understanding, enjoy buying. His excitement was contagious, I must admit. My smile got a tad maniac as well. "We only have to wait one year. Well, there's a twenty-year long list for people who want to go to the Moon, so I'd say we're lucky compared to them."

"This is so... Merlin," he smiled. The grin only lasted for a second, as he frowned immediately after. "I don't know if my parents are going to let me go, though."

"Oh, c'mon! We can convince them that we won't eat you," I assured him. And I meant it. After compromising to get good grades, I wasn't going to let the Malfoys' hypothetical reluctance spoil the whole thing.

"No, it's not that," he laughed. "Anyway, it's still a year away, so I can drop hints over the school year and then break the news during summer or so."

In that moment, Zabini walked into the room. A faint MacPherson jogged pathetically behind him, showing a constellation of acne across his left cheek. It formed a crossed letter E.

"Scorpius, look at—oh, hello, Potter—what happened to Rory! We were on our way to the Great Hall and someone charmed him from behind. We don't know who it was, but Rory swears it must be Adessi, from fifth year."

MacPherson nodded frantically. "He hates me," he dramatically gulped. I made a face as I tried not to laugh. Of _course_ he hated him. After all, he was Elise's boyfriend, and Rory was the first year brat who tried to steal her with awful poetry in front of everyone.

Besides me, Scorpius was also making a visible effort to remain serious. "That's horrible. Your cheek looks like a map of the Andes," he said, is voice flat. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I detected the slightest note of amusement hidden beneath all the layers of indifference.

"So funny, Malfoy," MacPherson grunted. Honestly, I _did_ find it funny. A few tense moments of silence followed. Until I, of course, ruined the whole thing.

Peeking at MacPherson, something I had really tried to avoid, did the trick. Even though I didn't want to, I burst into laughter.

"And what are you laughing at... Potter?" Rory turned to rivet his eyes on me, his cheeks bright pink. More than saying my surname, he spat it. "I don't think a Potter that's been sorted into Slytherin has much to laugh at. I bet all your family reject you now. The perfect Gryffindors... What a shame you weren't good enough to be one, huh? Shut your hole already."

It all happened very fast. One moment he was talking while I guffawed, and the next moment, Scorpius was on his feet with his wand out, MacPherson's mouth was _literally_ stitched, Zabini was hidden under his own bed and I was grabbing Rory's shirt by the front, ready to throw a punch or two. Or maybe three.

"I think it's you who should shut the hole, Rory," Scorpius calmly said, never lowering his wand. There was something in the nonchalancy of his voice that freaked me out in a completely new and frightening way. His smooth voice sent shivers down my spine—and I've never been one to get scared easily. Had he talked to _me_ like that, I wouldn't have had enough Solar System to run. Slowly, I let go of Rory. "Now, why don't the two of you just get out?"

Rory couldn't talk, and neither could Blaise, though his lips weren't the ones stitched. Without a word, he grabbed MacPherson's shoulder and dragged him out of the room at a surprising speed. Who would've known such a big body could move that fast?

When they disappeared through the door, Scorpius set his wand aside and let himself fall on the bed, slightly panting for some reason. "Idiot. Al, don't bloody listen to them. He's angry as hell and just talks nonsense about whoever he stumbles upon."

I think I've never heard Scorpius curse more in my life.

"Hey, it's alright," I lied. "A guy who has already been rejected in his first week doesn't really have a say on my family issues."

It wasn't true, though. When Rory said that, he brought back one of my old fears: that I wasn't a Gryffindor because I wasn't good enough. Yes, I really liked Slytherin now, and I knew it was all about goals and that, but there was still a little voice at the corner of my mind that wondered whether I hadn't been sorted in Gryffindor because I wasn't brave or loyal enough.

Although people usually bought it when I lied, for some reason Scorpius didn't. He frowned and looked at me, worried. "Don't lie to me, Albus Severus Potter."

"Who told you my second name!?" I roared. He laughed and stuck out his tongue.

"Rose did," he answered. "When you went to the bathroom last Thursday."

I was _so_ going to kill them.  "It is utterly _forbidden_ ," I harshly said, remarking the 'forbidden', "to say my second name out loud. Don't even think about it. Forget that it exists."

Scorpius laughed, bouncing on the bed. Small wrinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes when he did so. "Too late, Severus. Too late."

"Scorpius!" I howled, jumping towards the bed. He rolled on his back, now laying on his belly, and I almost lost a teeth to the matress. "I swear I'm going to kill you!"

"You'll have to catch me first!" Scorpius jumped to his feet, laughing like a toddler, and set off for the door. Unfortunately for him, I was an expert on this kind of fights thanks to my brother, and I knew how to play. I stood and threw myself to the door, miraculously reaching it before Scorpius did, and blocked it with my body.

"You're not going anywhere," I wickedly said. "Now, what's my name, again?"

He furrowed a brow with an amused smile. "Hmmm... I think it starts with an S... Let's say, Severus?"

I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out how to properly punish such an uprising. No ideas came to my mind, which frustrated me. "Try with an A, better," I said, defeated. I didn't have anything to avenge the offence.

"A... A Severus Potter?" I winced at that. It was lame.

"Nope." I made a face, disgusted at the sound of my second name. It honoured a super famous and brave director, I got that, but it was still awful. _Severus._ Who on Earth called his son Severus? It was like condemning your child to being unhappy from the very birth.

Scorpius covered his mouth with a hand to conceal a yawn. "Hey, come on. Not the worst second name there is, I can assure you."

"Hard to beat it, still," I answered, yawning as well. Much less polite than him, I pathetically suffocated the sound with the sleeve. " _Severus_ is a tough opponent."

Scorpius' lips twisted in an odd smile as he pointed at his trunk. I read the metal letters: _SHM_.

Wait. _H_?

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy," he said, answering the question I hadn't even begun thinking of. " _Hyperion_. Are you sure I can't beat _Severus_?"

For the second time in the afternoon, I laughed with all I had. Hyperion. _Hyperion._ The boy was named _Hyperion._ Severus and I were already in better terms. _Hyperion_.

Seriously. _Hyperion._

Merlin.

"You knocked Severus out for good! _Hyperion._ I'm _so_ going to enjoy these seven years."

"Hey! Don't be mean!" Scorpius made a face. "I already regret telling you."

"Such a pity you did," I told him, giving up on the door and crossing the room to sit on my bed. "I just can't forget it, dearest Hyperion. It would be such a shame to let it fall into oblivion."

"If you weren't going to grant me a visit to Luna Lovegood and a peek at her grocery lists, I would have bewitched you seven times already." Suddenly, he got serious. "Look, Albus, you don't have to do it. She invited _you_ , and—" 

"Sure I do," I said. "First of all, _you_ works for both singular and plural, so you can't know whether she left you out of the invitation or not unless you come with me and ask her. Second, you're the first person I've come across who likes The Lost Crown as much as I do, and you gave me Luna's adress. It's just stupid to even think of going without you. And third, you have to bear being called Hyperion. You deserve some compensation for that. You're coming, and it's final."

"Merlin, you're the best," he told me. And he meant it.

"I bet you say that to all the boys who take you to your favourite author's house," I answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE! :)


	6. Chapter 6

After the bedroom incident, Scorpius began spending more of his spare time with Rose and me, and thus less with Zabini and MacPherson. He still went with them the afternoons Rose and I decided to explore the castle—something Scorpius found too tiring—and sat with those two dimwits during the classes we shared with Ravenclaw, in which I paired up with Rose. Still, as the year went on, we found ourselves spending more and more afternoons with him at the Black Lake shore, doing homework, practicing spells or just chatting.

Don't get me wrong. It _did_ make me glad that he wanted to be with us. He was witty, kind and a really good, loyal friend. But a thought bugged me and I couldn't shake it off my mind: in a way, he was _using_ us. I knew it was a very childish and stupid feeling, but the fact that only now did he come with us angered me—it had taken a full demonstration of Zabini and MacPherson's deep stupidity to open his eyes. It didn't help, either, that MacPherson had to leave during two weeks to be treated at St. Mungo's for Neis' spell, nor that Zabini went on a half-month trip with his family to Ireland, where lived his dying great-grandmother. Often, I found myself thinking that their absence was the only reason why Scorpius came with us.

"Hey, Albus, is everything alright?" he would ask every day while we waited for Rose.

"Um? Yeah, 'course. What do you think is keeping Rose so busy in the bathroom? Troll in there or something?" Scorpius wouldn't catch the reference, but my own hysterical guffaw would be enough to change the topic for the next twenty-four hours.

After two or three days like this in a row, he stopped asking not to tire me. But I wasn't blind, and Scorpius was like an open and highlighted book to me. A worried, open and highlighted book. Guilt assaulted and stabbed me every time I thought of the situation, and trust me, I thought of it often, but what could I do? It wasn't as if my mind had a 'Stop The Cynism' button I could press. There weren't easy ways out for me.

Rose tried to make up for my sudden distancement, but it was a complete flop. She was too intelligent to play my part properly. Watching her try to keep our little group together broke my heart as much as Scorpius' puppy eyes did. It wasn't her who was tearing us apart, and it wasn't her who should be trying to put us back together.

But if there was something Rose lacked, it was patience. A week after I shut myself up in a Frozen-like ice castle, only mine was made of silence and stares into the void and not physical but rather social, she cornered me when I was going to the toilet.

"What the wizards is wrong with you? First you claim Scorpius is amazing and defend him against all odds, then you act like he's a pain. You're not yourself, Al! What happens between you two? Or, better, what happens to _you_? Because trust me, he's as worried as I am!"

With a glance, she scared away the two or three kids who had stopped by to watch or, most probably, wanted to use the toilet. It reminded me of Aunt Hermione's Death Look whenever Uncle Ron swore. Curse her genes.

"Rose, I just..." I sighed, my back aching from the uncomfortable position against the wall. "Look, it's silly, but I feel used. I mean, he was MacPherson and Zabini's BFF when the year started, but then they're gone and boom, all of a sudden we exist again? I feel like a replacement for those two fools, and it's rather insulting."

Three possible reactions I did expect: a slap, a reprimand and/or a shake of the head followed by a 'There _should_ be a legal limit to your idiocy, Albus."

Three possible reactions I did not expect: a guffaw, a hug _and_ her saying she felt the same.

"And that's it?" She wiped a tear of laughter. "Wizards, I feared worse. Feeling that way is completely normal, Al. After all, he's the first friend you made here, and he forgot about you to be with those two. Now he has come back to you— _crawled_ back, mind you—, and there's this feeling of betrayal and having been used, and fear that he'll leave again. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Speechless, I nodded. How she managed to make my emotional problems sound like an excerpt from a scientific magazine Q&A, I didn't know. She was amazing.

"That's completely normal, Al! Everyone would feel the same if they were in your shoes. We can survey my house, if you want to. The thing is, you won't fix anything by behaving like an oyster, only opening your mouth to eat. Try talking to him about this. Even though it's rather awkward, it's the only way to know whether your suspicions are right. And now get inside that toilet, because you look like your bladder is about to explode."

Worst thing about her speech? She was right. My face burned at the mere thought of asking 'Hey, are you using us?', leave alone his reaction. But how else could I solve it? Never talking to him again? Boicoting the trip to Luna's? Writing in a paper 'Friendship evaluation. Student: Scorpius Malfoy' and then drawing a sad face? And so there I was, three hours later, already in my bed and devouring what was left of my nails while I tried to plan such a touchy and completely _not_ embarrasing conversation.

"Hey, Albus!"

Okay, the thinking time was over.

Warning myself that if I didn't do this, there would be no sweets for the rest of my life, I looked at the tiles on which were Scorpius' feet.

"Hey," I faintly answered.

Whenever book characters said they 'couldn't meet whoever's eyes', I rolled mine and assumed they were just being dramatic, but I would never do that again. Now I understood all those cheesy main characters. I literally couldn't make myself look at Scorpius. It was as if someone had filled my eyes with concrete so that theIR weight would stop them from glancing at him.

"How are you? I didn't see you during the dinner."

Of course he hadn't. I had been too busy hiding down there, under the covers, like a rat.

"Erm, I'm... I'm fine, thanks. It's just that I wasn't really hungry."

' _ROAR_ ,' intervened my stomach.

He arched both eyebrows, but didn't say a thing. Instead, he pointed at his pillow with the wand, and his pyjamas flied to his free hand. With another flick, he was ready for eight hours of sleep.

"Listen, Scorpius..." Failed attempt to swallow the know in my throat down. Failed attempt to breathe. Failed attempt to attempting anything. I obliged myself to spit the words. "I'm sorry that I behaved like an idiot all the week. I didn't want to worry you, really. It's just that..." 

Another sigh. Merlin, I was _so_ stuffed with drama that night. 

"I felt you were somehow using us because Zabini and MacPherson weren't around and I didn't feel brave enough to tell you but was annoyed and angry and sad with you for that and Merlin, I know it's not your fault that I get so paranoid, but I just felt so bad and couldn't help it and I'm the worst snake to ever crawl this pit and..." 

Scorpius cut me off with a firm slap on my nape. "Can you shut up for just a second?" he told me off. "Please."

Incredulous, I nodded, and he took that as a signal to go on. 

"Albus, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I wasn't using you—really. I love being with Rose and you, and I'm not kidding. You're right, I started spending my time with you because they weren't around, but I enjoy being with you two so much that, even if Blaise and Rory came back..., even when they come back..., I wouldn't, won't, choose them over you."

Wait a second. _What?_ I kicked the green sheets off me and sat straight, looking at him. 

Just... 

_What?_

"Don't look at me like that," he laughed. "It's not as if you two were asocial misfits. I really, really like being with you. You're funny, each in your own way, and you make me laugh a lot. Every day is like a chapter off a TV series. Plus, I know what you think of Blaise and Rory, and you're right."

Really? Who would've said so a week ago.

_Stop it already with the mean retorts, Al. Remember the no-more-sweets thing.  
_

"I opened my eyes the other day, when Rory told you those things because laughed at his acne. No person worth talking to would ever touch such a delicate issue so cruelly. And also, he has smelly feet."

The only thing I could do was existing. Another literary but now proven cliché: I had lost my precious talking capacity. My abilities had been reduced to breathing, staring and blinking.

"Come on, Albus, say something!" A slight taint of nervousness impregnated his voice. "You're scaring me. I'm serious."

I shook my head, trying to break the odd silence spell that had fallen upon me.

"I... I..." Closing my eyes, I inhaled slowly as I tried to calm down so as to be able to actually talk, instead of stuttering pronouns. "Thanks, I guess. Not only for saying that about us. Also for standing up for me the other day. I feel like a huge crybaby for feeling used now. It didn't occur to me that you might actually enjoy being with us. Sorry for behaving like that."

Scorpius smiled and sat on my bed. "Don't worry," he said, patting my knee, "it's already forgotten."

I smiled back awkwardly. An uncomfortable silence was about to settle between us when a grey owl entered the room through the window, elegantly landing on Scorpius' trunk. It held a neatly sealed letter in its buck.

Sighing, Scorpius got up and took the envelope, caressing the animal's feathers as he did so. The owl let him pamper it for some seconds before spreading its wings and flying into the dark of the night again. I felt envious. Our owl always pecked me when I tried to take the letter my parents had sent me, and had I liked her enough to try to caress her dark feathers, she would've turned my hand into a bloody mess.

"A letter?" I asked, confused. "It's a tad late. Who's it from?"

Scorpius pressed his lips together, making a funny face. "Family. Nothing important, surely." He moved his hand as if he were to set it aside.

"Don't," I said. "I mean, read it."

He shook his head. "No, don't worry. Maybe later. We're talking for the first time in forever, so don't think I'm going to let you slip away from me with such a poor excuse. The letter isn't going to run away from me, so there's no hurry."

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite the hint. "Thanks for the added guilt. I didn't have enough with the other seven tons."

"Welcome," he simply answered, laying back on his bed and pulling the sheets on. I mimicked him. "So? How has this week been? I'm completely outdated on you."

"Nothing special, actually," I confessed. "Homework, classes, awesome magic. Merlinious banquets."

"Unbreakable silences," he added. This was already hard without him whipping me into line. I shot him a dirty look, frowning, and he raised both hands. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. Sorry."

"Thanks," I said, mocking outrage. "However, nothing out of the ordinary."

He made a weird sound, like a motor working way above its possibilities. "I'm thinking..."

"Wow." 

"..., shut up..., that was a rather stupid question. I've shared with you all classes, meals, afternoons and nights. It's my turn to feel stupid now." Shame made his cheeks rosy as he palmed his forehead.

"Welcome to the We Feel Stupid club. We don't have pins, but give us some time and a decent budget," I said with my best advertising voice.

"Shut it," he protested. I didn't take him serious, though. It was impossible, specially if you took into account the enormous grin that curved his thin lips.

We went on teasing each other for almost an hour before we fell asleep. And honestly?, it felt like finding a very precious something you lost.

 

Right before I fell asleep, I saw Scorpius grab the envelope and open it. 

 

He was still holding it when I woke to an apocalyptic pain piercing my brain from the unreachable centre of my head.


	7. Chapter 7

Even though I don't really remember what happened, I remember screaming so loud that I woke my six roommates at once. There are blurry images of what happened in my mind—someone casting a Lumos, yells that I later recognized as my own, Scorpius coughing, Scorpius running and grabbing me by the shoulder, Scorpius yelling at the other boys to go get McGonagall. I mostly remember Scorpius doing things, because he was the only one who actually tried to act adult. The rest just sat on their beds, covering their ears with their hands, and looked at the Potter weirdo who was screaming his throat sore.

Teachers soon came in and put healing spells on me as they took me to the infirmary, but there was nothing they could do to dim the supernovae exploding inside my brain, an endless chain of intracranial earthquakes that made me think my head was going to explode and I would die right there and then. I tried to get Rose-y. Told myself that the body shuts down when the pain gets too bad, that consciousness was temporary and that I would pass out. I didn't. I was left on the shore, waves of unconsciousness licking my body, but unable to drown.

While Mr Longbottom carried me in his arms to Mrs Pomfrey's, the lovely old lady who ruled the infirmary with an iron fist, Scorpius held my hand.

My first thought was, _bizarre._ After all, we had met just a month ago, and it was very late in the night or very early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it. It made no sense that he came.

But my second thought, much less critical, was that I really didn't want to be left alone during such a scene. I thanked him from the bottom of my heart for running besides Mr Longbottom and me through endless corridors of wimpy paintings.

"Turn that wand off!" a thin and ancient lady told Mr Longbottom, threatening him with a lethal-looking stool. The cow behind her mooed in agreement.

The teacher didn't bother answering.

While they carried me to the infirmary, I pressed my forehead against the teacher's chest and prayed for it to be over. I could do nothing, and screaming made it worse. All stimuli made it worse, actually. Dizzy to the point of almost throwing up all over Mr Longbottom's Snitch pyjamas, I closed my eyes and tried to leave out all sounds, to pretend that the world didn't exist. The roaring volcano of pain in my head started erupting, and I whined. Every heartbeat sent an excruciating wave of agony across my skull, and my heart has this bad habit to beat _a lot._

Even though I was not much of a life lover and I had always been kind of dark and melancholic, even before my depression, I had never considered the idea of killing myself nor anything close to dying. But I débuted that night. In those agonic moments, I would have been very, very happy to die.

 

I woke up to a bitter taste in my mouth. Someone was forcing it down my throat, and my immediate response was to cough it all over myself. Weak, I pathetically writhed under silky sheets. The aseptic smell informed me that I was in the infirmary, laying in a bed and being fed some potion by Mrs Pomfrey.

The old lady sighed and flicked her wand, removing all the wet stains from the covers and my own pajamas. "I know it's not a delicacy, Mr Potter, but it's the only thing that will help."

"What happened?" I mumbled. My whole body hurt bad, as if I had run a marathon barefoot while a thousand bees stung me and birds pecked my skull. I couldn't even blink without it feeling like I'd been shot. I decided that it'd be best to keep my eyes closed, which was easier, ached less and required less effort anyway.

When Mrs Pomfrey set the vial with the potion aside, I heard a strange 'thump' near my ear. "You woke up screaming, dear. Professor Longbottom, along with Mistress McGonagall and a youngling, brought you here. He explained that you'd said your head hurt and the _thing_ was getting close—" something I didn't remember "—and then gone on yelling."

The thing? Which thing? I tried to recall it, but couldn't. My mind right then was like a muscle that's been overused—it felt shaky, exhausted and trembling like jelly. Only thing I got was more pain. There we go.

"I think," she went on, "that it might have been a Ghostly Occupacy."

"Ghostly what?" I weakly mumbled, slowly exhaling my pain. "You mean I was possessed? Like, _The Exorcist_ possessed?"

Her laughter somehow soothed my nerves. "No, dear. See, during the Battle of Hogwarts, many unfortunately died in the castle, sacrificing their brave lives to save Hogwarts and the Magic Community from the darkness. There's been a heavy death presence here ever since, and sometimes, when the residual magic from our everyday spells accumulates, some of those souls are called to this world.

"They don't resurrect, of course, but rather get close enough to our dimension to affect us. When one of them appears near someone they're related to, or who has a strong magic, they are drawn to that person's body. That's what we call a Ghostly Occupacy."

My mouth was drier than Aunt Hermione's steaks. "So I've got a dead guy living inside of me?" I squeaked. I felt a pressure in my hand, like someone was squeezing. It was warm and smooth. Mrs Pomfrey had the best hands I'd ever held after a Ghostly Whatever.

"No, dear," she quickly replied. "The Occupacy is never permanent, worry not. You're still yourself. The only thing is, sometimes, if the spirit is strong or their connection to you is, they can leave residual memories or experiences when they leave. They suck a considerable amount of magic and energy when they do. It's very likely that you'll now remember things you didn't live, you weren't even alive when they happened. That's the ghost's memories."

Alright. So far, I had earned a Potter-who-went-wrong reputation, a punishment for accidentally setting my chair on fire, two foes, letters and an invitation to her house from my favourite writer..., and now the memories of some dead guy. James' first year had been wild, but even he couldn't beat this.

 

I didn't talk much more with Mrs Pomfrey. After surrendering and forcing the bitter, acid-like potion down my throat, I was left alone to get some sleep. One would expect himself to sack out pretty quick after a Ghostly Occupacy, but hey, I was everything but predictable. I felt like a thousand horses had ran their races over me, yet wouldn't fall asleep.

"How're you feeling?"

I almost jumped off my skin when I hear the whisper. The only reason why I didn't was, it hurt way too much.

"Merlin, you almost kicked me in the nose, Albus! Watch it."

Half an eye opened and mentally ready to punch, I opened my eyes in a titanic effort to find Scorpius Malfoy—well, more like half of Scorpius Malfoy. I could see his head, though he was wrapped in an invisibility cloak from his clavicle down. It wasn't like my dad's, the one he used every Halloween to scare us to death and make pranks with Uncle Ron that were frowned upon heavily by Mom and Aunt Hermione. This one was... Visible. If I squeezed my eyes enough, I could see a faint distortion caused by the fabric.

"What the wizards are you doing here, Scorpius?" I rasped. Every word hurt me, as if they were blades that ran up my throat before being spat.

"Isn't it obvious?" Scorpius moved to sit on the edge of my bed. He patted my hand, the way you pat a puppy's head when it poops where it's supposed to and not on your bed. "I'm here for you. You seriously creeped me off when I woke and saw you tossing and turning and screaming at the top of your lungs. How're you now?"

I coughed, ashamed that I'd given such a spectacle. "Wishing I was dead," I croaked. "I'm assuming you heard everything. Want friendly advice? Don't ever be Ghostly Occupied. It sucks."

Scorpius' laugh filled the room and gently surrounded me like a warm blanket. "I'll take note. To think that I was going to ask for an Occupation for Christmas... What will I do now?"

Even though my lips were chapped from Merlin knows what and they actually bleeded when I pulled them, I offered him a smile. "Well, there's still plenty of creepy things you can write in your list—particular classes with Binns, Hagrid's pastry. Nargles."

He grinned wolfishly. "I'm in for the nargles."

"Oh, you daring and foolhardy child!" I moved my thumb and index for no reason. Even though it felt like someone was stinging the knuckles, being able to do it felt good. Scorpius laughed and took my fingers between his, moving and folding them randomly.

His skin on mine looked alien—it was like one of those United Hands envelopes Aunt Hermione received every month. Scorpius' niveous fingers tangled around mine, which I had never considered tan until that very moment. It resembled cookies and milk. I closed my eyes and tried to think reason again. What a stupid comparison.

"You're shattered, Al," he told me. "Get some sleep. I won't leave, I promise."

I obeyed and closed my eyes, welcoming the idea of getting away from pain to enter whichever random situation my mind made up for me. Only when I was tiptoeing across the line bewteen awake and asleep, the second before I lost all consciousness, I realized that he had called me Al. It sounded different than when Rose called me such. It sounded good.

 

I was gone a couple days. Rose and Scorpius came as soon as they had a break, and so did Teddy and Victoire. My other cousins, Dominique, Louis, Molly and Lucy came as well, but never as often as my best friends. And, thanks to them all, I didn't ever feel alone among the creamy walls of the infirmary. Whenever they weren't with me, I slept.

Rose and Scorpius came every afternoon and did their homework using the matress as a table—specially Rose, who insisted that I wouldn't fall behind that way. Scorpius mostly teased her on it and made me laugh with stupid jokes and anecdotes from the classes I'd missed—he almost made me look forward to two hours of History of Magic. _Almost._

"What you missed today... The Quidditch season started, and we won the first match, against Hufflepuff. 230-140. Hailey Ralenhack, the Hufflepuff Seeker, almost broke her broom in two when Neis got the Snitch. Also, Professor Longbottom showed us this cactus, the _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_..., it spit Stinksap all over Rory when he tried to prod one of its bulbs. I swear I'm not enjoying it when I say it smelled like rancid manure. Needless to say, no one wanted to be near him, specially not his beloved Elise. I think he's showering _again_ right now."

I smiled, feeling a wicked satisfaction. Three hurrays for the cactus.

"You can't disappear like this, Al," Scorpius continued. "You miss too much."

"Ditto," Rose intervened, handing me a piece of parchment. "I thought you'd like this spell we learned today."

I blinked, reaching for my wand on the night stand. Even though it had been three days already since the Ghost Occupacy, I still felt like a little stain of Stinksap, and my arm shook badly. Scorpius took the wand and gave it to me, with an expression I didn't know how to classify. Whether pity or amusement.

" _Alarte Ascendare,_ " I read aloud, shaking my hand as if I were gripping a fly swatter instead of a wand. The empty pot on the nightstand of the bed in front of us suddenly rocketed up.

"Accio pot!" Rose called besides me, pointing her wand towards the ceramic piece. It flew to her hands, where it landed safely, instead of shattering against the ceiling. "Watch it, Al! You're a catastrophe with spells."

Ashamed, I nodded, acknowledging what she said. "The only wonder is how didn't I set it on fire," I muttered, dropping my wand on the sheets.

While she walked over to the night stand to put the pot back in its place, she let out an amused snort. "Thank Merlin the spell isn't even remotely close to any explosive one."

"What's up with this explosives thing?" Scorpius asked, arching an eyebrow. He had on this confused smile, the _I-don't-know-what-the-wizards-are-you-talking-about-but-I'll-politely-smile-just-in-case_ type.

"Albus is up," Rose answered. "He's a complete duffer when it comes to magic. Don't ask me how, but he blows things up even if he's casting a Reparo."

Scorpius looked at me with a completely new gleam in his eyes, as if he were realizing the enormous potential as a pranker I had. Dangerous. Teddy had thought the same one year ago. Mum hadn't be able to find a new carpet she liked as much as the old one yet.

"Whatever," he said, even though I could _feel_ that he hadn't dropped the idea of the Bomber Pranker. "I have good news and bad news on your favourite author's front."

"Okay?" I said.

Scorpius searched for something in his tunic's big, loose pockets. "The good news is that while you were being sucked by a ghost, Luna Lovegood shared a bit more of her brilliant brain with us." He reached for my hand, this time to slip a heavily folded paper into it. I remembered my delirious metaphor on the milk and the cookies. I felt like jumping out the window.

"And the bad news?" I asked, unfolding the letter and trying to smooth it with my right hand.

"Watch the nargles," he answered, leaning back on his chair.

_"Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_I am truly happy to hear that the two of you will be coming to visit me at Salazar's Pit next year. I am most definitely looking forward to it. Sorry that I am not able to receive you now, but it is the nature of the stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves."  I would say the fault, in this case, is in the Kalernorls.  
_

_Thank you also for your interest in my expedition. Yes, the Kalernorls are very much alive, and we are already tracking some specimens. It is very likely that we will be able to document their existence for the first time in history. As you asked for it—and I am very pleased to see that smart young boys like you are interested in learning beyond what is taught in class, in discovering the world as it truly is—, I have included a sketch of how a Kalernorl looks. We have only seen them from afar, but worry not; they are big enough so as to ensure that we did not miss any limb or horn."_

The letter seemed to go on, but it had been ripped there. I could only see some ink dots where Luna's quill had gone on writing. "Hey, it's missing a part."

Scorpius frowned and leaned forward, taking the paper. "What? Weird. Oh, well. Maybe she had to use the rest of the paper to write down the Kalernorls' favourite meals or something like that. Anyway, don't worry, the drawing came on a separate sheet."

He handed me a dirty paper which showed something very similar to what the child of the Yeti and a bull would look like. Its furry podgy body stood on two long, hairy legs, and its arms hung to the sides of his prominent belly. Two horns crowned its bulky head, which showed an only eye that took up half of its face's space and a rounded snout.

"Beautiful," I said, wrinkling my nose.

"Indeed," he nodded, taking the paper back and folding it along with the letter. "Now we know which our next Halloween costume should be."

Rose, who'd been immerse in her homework for a while, looked up from her Defence Against the Dark Arts book and glanced at us. "There's no Halloween party here, boys. Only a special banquet. Anyway, Al, you should _really_ try to do some homework. It's only the third week, but we have already covered one unit and a half. You don't want to fail, do you?"

She was the voice of reason. Sighing, I grabbed a random book and opened it. Potions. "Alright," I said, "let's learn."

 

That night, I woke up shivering and trying to catch my breath. Nightmares had haunted me ever since I got Ghostly Occupied, but this one had been the worst by far. Previous ones had only shown me blurry green flashes of light. This time, I'd gotten to watch the whole scene.

_"Hello, Minister! Did I mention I'm resigning?"  
_

There was a ginger besides me, most probably a male. He sent a neat jinx straight at a tall man dressed in black, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes.

 _"You're joking, Perce!"_ I said, casting a hex on the opponent in front of me. _"You're actually joking... I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—"_

Something suddenly exploded to my right, sent me flying, threw me against the stone floor. My ears rung and my vision started blurrying, green glints of light flashing from one side of the corridor to another as the ginger diverted spells and casted his own.

 _"ROCKWOOD!"_ A scream pierced my ears as I continued to slip into unconsciousness. Someone dropped by my side, shook me, but I wouldn't move. He was shouting something. I couldn't hear, couldn't get it. I tried to anchor myself to life, realising that I was dying, but it was like trying to hold onto thin air. There was nothing to grab, nothing to keep me from passing away.

 _"No—no—no!"_ someone yelled over me. I could see nothing but darkness now. Soon, I stopped hearing.

Only an excruciating pain remained.

I woke to the darkness of the infirmary, crying. It wasn't cold what made my body quiver, and it wasn't exhaustion what made me pant, trying to catch my breath. My senses were all numb, and all I saw was the same scene over and over, the spells and the explosion and the blackness and the pain, always and everywhere the pain.

"Al! What happens? I'm here. Don't worry, I'm here." Scorpius appeared from under his invisibility cloak, putting his hands on my shoulders and looking at me right in the eye. I tried to focus on my friend's whiteish palette, his silver eyes, his platinum hair, his marble skin, tried to scape the darkness around me.

"Scorpius," I hoarsely called, my throat sore. He frantically nodded, letting me know that it was him, that he was there. He pulled me into a tight hug when I spoke again. "Scorpius, I... I just witnessed my uncle Fred's death."


	8. Chapter 8

I got up late the next morning. Scorpius had already left for Transformations, but a neatly written note was waiting for me on the bedside table, next to the horrible potions Mrs Pomfrey would make me drink as soon as she saw me awake: _Be right back. I didn't tell._

It became an unspokenly agreed forbidden issue. We talked about everything and made the usual bad puns and lame jokes, but tiptoed around my nightmare and never even approached the topic. Every once in a while, Scorpius would shoot me a look that meant, _You okay?,_ and I would answer him with a reluctant nod, but that was it.

Not even Rose knew I had witnessed Uncle Fred's death. I didn't want her to. I didn't want anyone to. Death, no matter what they tell you, isn't nice. It's not a casual walk across a dark tunnel with a sunny prairie awaiting at the end. It's not your long lost relatives waving from above. It's not angels playing the lyre and singing psalms while Saint Peter opens the gates of Heaven for you. Death is cold, and cruel, and lonely, and anything but welcoming. It isn't something you share.

 

The seventh day after I got Ghostly Occupied dawned gray and low and full of rain but not yet raining, matching my mood surprisingly well. I felt specially pathetic and miserable that day, and I suspected that it wasn't just Uncle Fred's residual energy.

"Mr. Potter, I think that you're already fully recovered," Mrs. Pomfrey announced as I opened my eyes, pouring my old friend the snot-flavoured potion in a glass. "You're very strong, dear."

"Thanks." Closing my eyes and trying not to inhale, I drank the potion as quick as my throat let me. Not only did it smell like my nose's homemade greenish products, but it was also viscous. Hadn't it been because Mrs. Pomfrey was too sweet, I would've suspected she was trying to poison me—or, at least, make me vomit my gut out.

With the closeness of my freedom came an overwhelming boredom I couldn't shake off. I hadn't been disgusted by the chance to sleep all I wanted before, but there was only so much laziness I could stand. An hour or two felt good, but a whole week made me feel like the lamest person to ever step onto Hogwarts. For Merlin's sake, I even started doing the homework Rose had brought me.

After finishing an essay on the Kappas, I decided that I wasn't desperate enough to do all of my homework yet, and started crafting a letter to Luna Lovegood. Nothing out of the ordinary—I pleaded for a new book and even gave her some ideas, and swore upon the life of my mother that I wouldn't even claim my righteous place in the acknowledgements, because I just wanted to read something new from her. I told her about the Ghostly Occupancy as well. How horrible Uncle Fred's death had been, how its memory haunted my dreams.

Needless to say, I didn't send it.

Writing to Luna Lovegood felt both daring and familiar. She had been a close friend of my parents during their school years, fighting the evil by their side, so you would expect her to have been someone important in my life. Wrong. After she finished her Hogwarts studies, she became the ultra busy Magizoologist I have spent my whole life worshipping, and even though she did send letters to my parents, she never visited. They had seen her only three times after they split up—Luna's wedding with Rolf Scamander, Aunt Hermione with Uncle Ron's, and my parents'.

Of course, I could have obtained her adress easily if I had wanted to. But it was a matter of pride. I was sick of getting things just because my parents were who they were, and trying to get Luna's adress by myself instead of grabbing an envelope from the kitchen and copying it was my way to defy my own unwanted fame. Stupid? Maybe. Surely. Totally. But it felt like a scape from who I was. Who I didn't want to be, but was.

The letter rustled as I crumpled it in my fist and threw it away. Terrible as my aim was, it missed the bin for a good three metres. Somehow, that made me feel even more pathetic. 

While I tried to decide whether I should sleep to avoid my problems, Scorpius entered the infirmary. His hair was slightly messy, as if he had fought a breeze spirit on his way, and he was nestling his books and clean pieces of parchment between his arms. Two of them threatened to fall as he ran towards my bed. "Albus!"

"Last time I checked, at least," I answered, arching one eyebrow. "What, has it been Christmas while I slept?"

"Don't do that," he complained, opening his arms and dropping everything on my bed. My right foot would never be the same.

"Do what? I thought we were already over the eyebrow thing." Ever since I first arched only one eyebrow in front of him, Scorpius had become obsessed with discovering how was it possible. After three weeks wasting his afternoons studying my face, he had given up—or so I had thought.

"Don't be so cranky. You're getting out of here today, so one would expect you to be in a better mood."

"But I haven't said anything!" I groaned. "I'm not being cranky!"

"That scene won't play, Potter." If anyone ever doubts whether there is further magic than the one done with flicks of the wand, let them meet Scorpius. Somehow he knew how I felt even better than I did. "Anyway, let's get down to business. Apart from your grumpiness, how has today been?"

"Snot potion twice, Scorpius. How do you think it has been? And I couldn't even throw that paper"—I motioned towards the crumpled letter on the floor—"to the bin without miserably failing. And I'm remembering as I speak that I have this old stuffed bear from when I was little in my trunk, because my mother thought it may be super cool to put it there where everyone can see it, and I haven't even looked at it since I got here, and I feel horrible for that, and I want to go to Salazar's Pit and I can't and I want to forget what I saw and it won't stop rewinding in my mind and I'm hungry and Merlin, I'm about to cry and I don't know why."

Scorpius didn't answer right away. He just stared at me as if I had just said that I was going to quit school for the sake of being an activist for the Kalernorl rights.

"I must see that old bear of tears immediately," he finally said, marching towards the door. "Give me ten minutes."

 

Using my sleeve as a tissue, I did cry but in silence, because Mrs. Pomfrey was really smothery and concerned about me, and I knew she'd want to _talk_ and find out what was troubling me. The thought of that whole conversation made me want to throw up. Instead, I just sobbed a tad here and there and thought of how horribly bad I felt and how humanity headed towards its destruction with all the pollution. Maybe I _should_ become an activist, but instead of defencing Kalernorls, I should speak up for the environment. Hey, I could boicot every single British factory with a Reparo.

It took Scorpius the ten minutes he had asked for to return. I wiped my face with the sheets again when I heard his footsteps echoing in the corridor and tried to smile.

"Hi," he said when he came into the infirmary. "I see your point. It is a highly adorable stuffed bear."

With a wink, he left Bluie on my lap. "Hey, buddy," I faintly saluted the plushie.

"So what's its story?" Scorpius asked, curious. He rumagged in his pockets for a second before handing me a hanky. Ashamed, I blew my nose. The paper felt warm and wet between my fingers. Disgusting.

"Alright. Once upon a time, there were a lot of children..."

"But I thought you had one brother and one sister," he interrupted me.

"Shut it, I'm getting there. So once upon a time, there were a lot of children, the important ones being three siblings and a lovely ginger cousin, who were having a very hard time trying to find all the Easter Eggs. Now, if you have never seen my grandparents' house, it may sound silly to you the fact that around ten children and therefore their parents have a hard time trying to find Easter Eggs; just trust me when I say that it's big. All-the-family-fits-in-for-Christmas-and-we-are-over-thirty big.

"Let's see. These children were getting real stressed because they couldn't find more than one egg each, so one of them decided to content himself with the one he had. Which was way bigger than my head, by the way, and now that I think so, how the wizards didn't we see the rest? Anyway. The kiddo sat on the grass and started eating chocolate as if the world were to end the next day while the others kept on searching. And oh, wonders! Two or three minutes after he decided he didn't give a red chilli about the rest of the eggs, the missing ones were found."

My yawn gave Scorpius enough time to quickly ask, "but I thought not even your parents could find them?"

"Well, yeah. A bunch of garden gnomes snatched the eggs when my grandmother wasn't looking," I explained. Uncle Ron taught us how to throw them that afternoon. "The thing is, everyone got three or four Easter Eggs twice their size except for me. James ate them in less than an hour, and the indigestion that followed ended up with my parents in St. Mungo's at three in the morning, but anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I didn't get any extra egg because they were all too busy eating to remember that I existed, so when I went to them and saw all the papers and wrappers scattered around, I started crying an ocean."

Maybe I overreacted a tad, but hey, I've always been truly, madly, deeply in love with food. Chocolate is my soulmate, in fact.

"My grandmother felt horribly bad for forgetting about me, so she took my hand and guided me upstairs, to the attic. There, after scolding the ghoul for banging on the pipes particularly strong the night before, she gave me Bluie. Apparently, it was Uncle Charlie's favourite toy as a kid. It wasn't chocolate, but..." I shrugged. "It was soft and cute, and I didn't feel particularly picky."

With a tender smile, Scorpius grabbed Bluie's podgy arms and started moving them up and down. Something in his eyes wasn't quite right, though. They were teary.

"This is far better than an Easter Egg," he finally said, sniffing. "And now don't look, I have this horrible allergy to sad stories and the chances are my sneeze will feature snots and huge tears and nasty stuff in general."

Mystery solved. I obediently fixed my eyes on the window to my left as Scorpius let out the loudest sneeze ever. Data from Rose that if you sneeze hard enough your eyeballs might fall out of their sockets popped up in my mind. Gulping, I tried to avoid imagining one of Scorpius' gray eyes landing on the sheets.

" _Byubaturb,_ " he told me. Both hands over the lower half of his face, I was relieved to find out that his eyes were still in their place. Cheeks pink, Scorpius moved one hand as the other flew to his pocket and got a tissue. The efficiency with which he cleaned himself was impressive, as if he practiced every night.

"Ew, dude," I laughed. "And I thought _I_ was sick."

"One more word about my sneezes and I'll throw this to you," he threatened me, brandishing the snotted hanky. With such gentle words, I couldn't disobey, or could I?

  
Even though one would expect their roommates to at least welcome them back, my homecoming was lukewarm, at best. Neis high-fived me and Elise gave me a bear hug, but that was it. Rory didn't lower himself to a miserable 'hello'—maybe because Elise hugged me right when he was walking into the common room? And Zabini... That boy was strange. He tilted his head to the side when he saw me, as if someone had chopped his neck. I didn't know if that meant 'Thrilled that you're back', 'You're dead' or 'If I look at the curtains this way, they look like Hulk's poo'.

On my bed lay scattered clothes that Scorpius quickly put back in my trunk with a flick of his wand. Mortified that my underwear had been exposed to everyone who stepped into the bedroom the whole afternoon, I punched his arm.

"Sorry," he said, too ashamed to meet my gaze. "I was looking for the bear, and forgot to order the mess after I found it."

"No way, Sherlock," I grunted. "Hear me, Scorpius Malfoy: if anyone passes me a note with the slightest reference to my boxers, you won't have enough United Kingdom to run."

He was wise enough to avoid any kind of witty comeback.

"Rose was busy today with homework," he said as I threw myself on my bed. "She—hey, you have just spent a week on a bed!"

"Yeah, but it wasn't _my_ bed," I answered, as if that explained it all. "She?"

"Lazy," he grunted. "She's happy that you're finally well nonetheless, and asked me to take you to the Black Lake this afternoon."

A smile spread from my lips to my eyes. Even though she had visited twice a day, I still missed spending my afternoons chatting with her while we studied or went for a walk. "I might consider getting up just for the sake of meeting her," I said. A rebel curl was tickling my nose, and I started twisting it between my index and my thumb.

"Such an effort. Are you sure you'll manage it?"

"Who knows, but I'll try my best."

Even though Scorpius tried to be responsible and told me to do my homework, I caught him by surprise when I proudly said that they were done already.

"All of them?" His eyeballs might fall off their sockets _now_.

"Yup," I nodded. "There are only so many hours you can sleep a day, and you had to go to class."

Scorpius shook his head, stunned. "What is wrong with this world," he dramatically proclaimed, "that Albus Potter has done all of his homework?"

"Easy," I said, "no one ever said they're well done. I most probably messed up in History of Magic and Charms."

With a furtive guffaw, Scorpius sat besides me. "The fact that you've done them is mind-blowing enough. I'd go nuts if, besides, you got them right."

Me too.

 

It wasn't only Rose, but also James, Teddy and his whole crew who awaited me at the Lake. They did give me a proper welcome—one of Teddy's friends, Benjamin, had snatched a pumpkin pie from the kitchens, and Victoire had gone to Hogsmeade to buy what I swear looked like all of Honeydukes. A bouquet of Acid Pops and Chocolate Wands had been arranged in a pot, and over a picnic blanket lay plates with Caudron Cakes, Ice Mice, Peppermint Toads, toffees, Wizochoc, exploding bonbons and many other wonderful sweets. The mere sight of it gave me a tooth decay.

"And here is lord Albus Potter, who has miraculously survived the most violent headache ever!" James shouted, clapping.

My cousin's crew had chosen a nice spot under a willow to celebrate my recovery. We looked like something off a postcard: a lovely bunch of kids having a picnic besides a dark lake, the imponent castle surrounded by mountains in the back. Take out the thick grey clouds, add some butterflies and there you go, a Disney movie.

"So tell us, Al," Teddy said, interrupting James' parody of Professor Lidewij from Potions, "what horrible dream did you have that was enough to wake us all?"

"It wasn't a dream, technically—" Rose began, but Teddy interrupted her.

"Rosie, we know you know the facts, but let's hear Al's story, shall we?"

I offered her a faint smile in apology. "As Rose said," I began, "it technically wasn't a dream, but a Ghostly Occupacy."

Everyone gasped at that.

"A Ghostly what?"

"Sounds creepy."

"Sounds great!"

"As you can see," Teddy told Scorpius as if they had known each other since the very beginning of times, "our friend Jesper here has a disturbing crush on whatever sounds dangerous, dark or both."

"Hey," Jesper protested. He rubbed his number-one cut, his dark fingers sparkling due to sugar. Besides him, a shorter boy laughed. "Wylan, shut it. I already have these fools for laughing at me, and it really isn't necessary that you join them."

Combing his golden curls backwards, Wylan showed a mocking smile. "I'll shut it when you're struggling with potions, too. Let's see if you're so brave when you have to cook auric acid and don't know even where your caudron is."

"Guys," Teddy called. "Catfight can wait. Al, go on."

Even though I would've killed him if he'd called any of my arguments with, let's say, James or Scorpius a catfight, Jesper and Wylan simply gave each other a sideways look and quietened. "Okay, so the Ghostly Occupacy. Apparently, since the Battle of Hogwarts, many people's spirits have been wandering around here, feeding on magic energy and the leftovers of our spells. Ghosties feel attracted to people with strong magic inside or who are their relatives, and ba-daaah, one decided that I looked good enough for it to posess me."

" _Mon Dieu_ ," Victoire exclaimed. "And do you know who it was?"

"No," I lied through my teeth. "I just know that he was such a pain."

Everyone laughed at that, even Rose. "I swear, the snake pit is the best thing that has happened to you ever since Choco-Locos," Teddy affirmed. "Who would've known they'd get some humour into you?"

"Thanks, thanks." I mocked a bow. "The training has been exhausting, but I can finally say that I've mastered the art of bad jokes and lame puns."

"Maybe it's time to make you an official member of the Goblins, Al," Teddy said with a wink. "We could use your _explosive_ personality."

Scorpius let out a hybrid between a snort and a guffaw at that. It sounded like a chihuahua choking.

"No!" Rose protested. "Take Hugo when he comes, but Albus, Scorpius and I are busy from now until we're done with Hogwarts. I'm not going to let you pervert them."

"That came out way wrong," Jesper pointed out, sniggering. Wylan elbowed him, although he was laughing as well. Elise, who was sitting between Neis' open legs, rolled her eyes as she snorted.

"Whatever," Rose answered stiffly. "No means no." Her cheeks were the colour of the Hogwarts Express now.

My brother roared with laughter, patting her shoulder. "Don't worry, Rosie, we won't tell anyone that you accidentally made a pun."

I didn't know where the pun was, but I laughed nonetheless.

We spent the rest of the afternoon just chatting and laughing an awful lot, specially when Teddy started snitching us how teachers behaved out of the class. "You wouldn't believe Lidewij's smelly feet! It's like a Roquefort punching your nose." Also, he got out his diabolical notebook, the one full of schemes and plans for pranks, and whispered the details of his last occurrence as if it were top secret information. "Victoire came up with it," he announced, smiling before he leaned in to kiss her. "It's brilliant."

Victoire rolled her eyes, although the praising clearly pleased her. "Oh, stop it. It's pretty basic—you see, we'll need some Dungbombs, Frog Spawn Soap, one Anti-Gravity Hat and a Screaming Yo-yo..." She explained the simple yet impressive plan, by which the Gremlins would be the terror of the prefects' baths.

"But you yourself are a prefect, Victoire!" Rose exclaimed, eyes wide open. She still hadn't registered the fact that Victoire didn't care much about her badge.

"That makes it funnier," she shrugged. "Just imagine how the next meeting will go."

"See?" Teddy intervened, passing his arm over her shoulders. "Brilliant."

 

With Rose and Scorpius—who was actually more intelligent than he appeared—by my side, I was able to catch up in all the subjects quickly. Routine felt good, and I found joy in the smallest and most stupid details, such as watching the two of them argue over historical facts, witnessing Rory's constant and failed attempts to conquer Elise and Neis' revenges, eating carrots just to show Scorpius I could and writing to my family before going to sleep.

Every Monday and Thursday an owl arrived late at night, always bringing Scorpius the same neatly sealed letters. We developed this habit that I would tell him to read it, he would shake his head and shove it aside to continue with our talk and then read it when he thought I was asleep. While he did so, I made up theories about those letters. Maybe it was from a sect he was a member of. Or from the Ministry of Magic. Or from a girl. Who knew? Not me, for sure. He could've been the King of Norway's pen pal and it wouldn't have surprised me.

The Goblins also started playing an important role in my life. I didn't become an official member, but Teddy always counted on me to make some little explosions here and there and, together with Wylan, to adjust the potions they needed for the weirdest things you can imagine. Even though I was a first year, my skill with the caudron soon became worthy of an S in the O.W.L.s—needless to say, Professor Lidewij was head over heels about me. 

Although she pretended to be outraged, Rose also joined the Goblins' activities. I swear I've never seen something as maleficent as Victoire, Teddy and her planning the next prank. Scorpius did come with us, but he usually ended up playing Exploding Snap with Jesper, Neis and a girl called Petra.

I couldn't complain about my family, because they had always loved me and treated me right; but it was in Hogwarts where I truly felt at home for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a Scorpius to my depressive Albus so much right now. Also, Leigh Bardugo's Jesper and Wylan and James Norman Lippert's Petra cameos because I can.


	9. Chapter 9

My first year flew by. One minute I was taking my first exam, and the next I was saying goodbye to Hagrid and promising to write during the summer as Rose and Scorpius hurried me into the Hogwarts Express. 'Sad' would've been an outraging euphemism as to describe how I felt. It was as if someone were ripping my heart right out of my chest.

Now, some people may call me exaggerated, but the truth was I missed school with all my passion, and we hadn't even departed yet. I missed the mistcast spells across the corridors, the long nights spent doodling on what should be essays on magical wars, the lessons, the Quidditch matches and the sore throats that came with them, the explosions in Charms, the meals. Merlin, I even missed Hagrid's homemade buns. Just how desperate must one be to miss Hagrid's homemade buns?

Hint: a painful lot.

"You're the first guy I've ever met who doesn't like summer holiday," affirmed Scorpius when we entered a coach, pausing between _met_ and _who_ to blow his fringe out of his eyes. Ever since we came back from the winter break, he had let his hair grow wild, and not even gel could fix the blonde disaster currently atop his head. "Should I be scared?"

"No." I shook my head. "You should've been scared when you first met me. There's no going back now, so don't waste your time freaking out."

"Holy Merlin," Scorpius gasped, "he's both depressing and depressive. His bad mood is almost literally choking me."

And what did my cousin answer to that? _She laughed._ Have a family for this.

"Well, Scorpius, say hello to Old Albus. He turns into this dark creature every summer, so don't be scared. It's part of his life cycle, just like breathing or blowing things up."

Pursing his lips in a funny way, Scorpius nodded, as if he were considering the information Rose had just given him. "Alright. Hello, Old Albus, pleased to meet you. Now, if  you wouldn't mind letting New Albus come back..."

"I legit hate you," I sighed, leaning the right cheek against my hand and peering trough the window. The train let out a high-pitched squeal of white steam, and the wheels slowly came to life, creeching and whining as they started rolling. Defeated, I finally let it sink in: Hogwarts was over until September the 1st.

"Thanks," Scorpius answered, shrugging. "And now give me my friend back, you hideous depressing thing. We have some talking about next October to do."

 

If previous summers had been dark, this one was even worse. Every day stretched to the infinite, and every night brought whether insomnia or dreams about Hogwarts, which made me feel miserable and provoked serious casualties among my mother's teas.

Rose tried to cheer me up, but it just didn't work. Our tandem, which had worked flawlessly before, now felt uncomplete without Scorpius. Of course, he sent letters, and I devoured them and replied as soon as the owls dropped the envelopes into my hands; but it wasn't the same as having him besides us, trying to outwit Rose and eating all the vegetables I didn't want to even look at. Disturbing? I guess. But such a mourning was the price to pay for such a wonderful thing as being at Hogwarts.

Mum almost took me to St. Mungo's during the second week of vacation, worried as she was that the good effect school had had on me might have vanished forever. Regular Doctor Dean Thomas assured her that it was just the homesickness one is expected to feel whenever they leave a beloved place, but it didn't stop her from freaking out. Furtive trips into my room with the excuse of leaving ironed clean clothes to check that I was still there and alive happened at least trice a day, and she even bought me a boxed set with Lovegood's _The Lost Crown Series_ special edition. Now, this might not sound specially strange, but Mum _never_ bought anything we already had that still worked. And she definitely _didn't_ spend fourty galleons on books that were on my shelves already.

"Thanks, Mum!" I managed when she gave them to me. Displaying a pathetic attempt at a grateful smile, I hugged her to conceal what I truly felt: that not even the finest presents could even soothe the yearning for Hogwarts and the life I lived there.

Don't let them fool you. The whole ' _'Tis better to have loved and lost..._ ' thing is utter dragon poo. To have loved and lost hurts like hell all life round. Not loving at least comes with a reassuring indifference.

"You have to stop, Al," Rose finally commanded one July afternoon. I, sat besides her on a hill to watch the sunset, obediently stopped pulling the petals off a white daisy. When I offered her the remains of the flower, she snorted. "You know what I mean. You have to stop being the constant gloom in the room. You're basically like a black hole that sucks everything good and kind there is."

"I'm sorry," I apologised, unsure on what to answer to that. True, I hadn't been the smiliest kid on Earth lately, but I didn't know what to do. How do you proceed when there's this big and heavy feeling eating your insides and leaving only darkness in their place? Do you get surgery? Pills? A padded room?

"Don't," she replied. "Instead of being sorry, just... Stop crying around the corners, alright? It sounds harsh and insensitive, but you're depressing all of us, and it's not going to get you anywhere."

Before I could think of a witty retort on how you don't cure sadness by telling someone to be happy—or even think of a reply—, the black shape of an owl against the setting sun flew towards me, a piece of parchment tuck in its beak. Curly capital letters and very straight strokes informed me that it was from Scorpius, who I swear has the kind of calligraphy you see in wedding invitations.

"Thank Merlin you have Scorpius, Al," Rose said, letting out a heavy sigh. "That boy is a saint, putting up with every mood of yours."

Enjoying the last rays of sun on my face and arms, I unfolded the parchment and started reading.

_'Dearest Albus,_

_We are already halfway through July! Hopefully you haven't killed yourself yet, which would upset me badly. Good news: you just have to survive another month and a half, and then we're back to Hogwarts. Yes, Rose told me everything. No, she didn't keep quiet about the disaster with the crêpes. No, there's no way I'm ever forgetting about that one. And no, don't slaughter her to leave her stinky corpse in a stinky alley—it's a rather sad (and stinky) death, plus you'd have to start paying attention in class.  
_

_I'm sorry that I can't be there with you two, but we're spending most of our holiday at my grandparents' house this summer and... It's already tense enough without me going to Harry Potter's house to visit Albus Potter. My grandfather, Lucius, doesn't even know that I'm friends with you. Dad and Mom haven't told him a thing, and I'm not going to. Saying this kills me, and it doesn't apply to my parents, but he completely hates your family, Al. He'd go nuts, and probably have a stroke, if he learnt that I hang out with Potters and Weasleys. I'd like everyone to get to know how great you are and laugh at your lame sarcasm, but I don't think I'll ever be able to talk to my grandparents about you. Maybe my grandmother will understand... Someday._

_But let's move on to another topic—I'm not writing to tell you about my family issues. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AL! I know it's in two days, June the 17th (the day after tomorrow for me, at least, as I'm sending this letter on the 15th), but I wanted this to arrive in time. Last week the owl got lost, and it took a whole three days to deliver the letter; I don't want that to happen with your birthday present. In case it didn't arrive in time for your birthday: I'm going to have this stupid owl for dinner. In case it did arrive in time for your birthday: HAPPY MERLINIOUS BIRTHDAY! It case it arrived soon: read it again when it's officially your birthday—also, don't open the present until the day comes! (I know you will nonetheless. Oh well.)_

_What else, what else? Oh, right—remember we're visiting Luna Lovegood at Salazar's Pit this year! If that doesn't put stars in your eyes, I don't know what will.  
_

_There are many more things I want to tell you, but Grandmother is calling us all for dinner and I have to go. I'll send Orion with the letter now, and pray that it arrives in time. Survive summer for me, Al, will you?_

_Best wishes,_

_Scorpius.'  
_

"Can I?" Rose asked, curious. Without a word, I handed her the paper and crouched over myself as she read it in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Right. My birthday. I would be turning twelve in two days, and hadn't even remembered it before Scorpius' letter. What kind of terrible pre-adolescent was I?

"Whoa, Scorpius, thanks for standing up for me," she said out loud. I guessed she had gotten to the stinky alley part.

I felt bad for Scorpius' family situation. I did know something about Lucius Malfoy, and if anything, that man was the most devoted one to ever step onto the British Islands when it came to hating my family. It's not every day that a seventeen-year-old wizard overthrows the Darkest Lord of all times you worship, after all. Old Lucius had his reasons to loathe us. Still, Scorpius' situation made me miserable, because he didn't have anything to do with Voldemort nor his grandfather's loyalties but still suffered its consequences. Just how horrible must it be to lack proper grandparents, the kind who listen and love you no matter who your friends are?

Although it may not have been evident at first sight, it was becoming increasingly clear that Scorpius had a _very_ difficult life.

"Well," Rose said when she finished reading, "this boy is quickly earning my respect."

"What, didn't he already have it?"

She chuckled. "He lost it when he argued that Philorian wasn't a tyrant king, and is on his way to recovering it now."

That finally made me laugh. Only Scorpius and Rose could argue about past kings and wars and rebellions, and only they could make those discussions sound sane.

"Oh, and by the way. The owl dropped your birthday present before flying to our tree—"she motioned at the ancient oak that crowned the hill"—and passing out. Here you are."

Rose handed me a small velvet bag, in which I caught a golden glimpse before it started shaking. Maybe it wasn't a wicked Cornish Pixie, but hey, it wasn't worth the risk. "I think I'll open it when we're home," I decided. When we were home and I could get a fly swapper.

Poor thing. The present turned out to be a Snitch and not an evillious tiny winged creature, which James immediately seized as his. Endless fights took place in our rooms, where I would try to get _my_ Snitch back and he would never give it up. It took a week of silent fight and, in the end, a good reprimand from my parents to get the small golden ball back.

As I didn't want to lock it in a drawer and couldn't come up with any better idea, I started letting the ball loose in my bedroom during the long afternoons drawing, reading or doing whatever I felt the most like. Closed windows and doors ensured that the small thing wouldn't be going anywhere, and the flutter of its wings somehow relaxed me. It was like having a pet, but one you didn't have to feed nor take to the vet.

I received many great presents for my birthday, but I must admit that Scorpius' was extremely high on the rank compared to the rest of them. Merlin knows how, he managed to find and give me what would, over the years, become my favourite thing: my own Golden Snitch.

 

Although not without being a pain in my neck, July and August slowly went by, every afternoon hotter and more unsufferable than the previous one. The only relief from my awful summer routine—mind you, non-routine—were the two first weeks of August, when we all gathered at my grandparents' house. By all, I mean _all;_ even Uncle Charlie left his dragons in Romania to crowd together with the rest of us.

"Albus, boy! What's up?" Uncle Bill asked when he Apparited in the hall, a hand up in the air. High-fiving him, I grinned. Our family portraits welcomed him as well with claps and cheers.

"This boy is still alive? How miraculous is it that he has not been incinerated by one of those winged beasts yet?" my great-grandfather Septimus snorted from his canvas. Uncle Bill winked at him in response, causing our ancestor to storm off the painting, muttering curses that sounded both ancient and hilariously ridiculous.

"The sky," I answered, ignoring Great-grandpa Weasley's intervention. The same old answer I'd been giving him for years cracked him up as it had for years, and he tousled my hair with a calloused hand.

"Still burning it down, eh? That's my nephew. You'd make really nice friends with the last Ukrainian Ironbelly we've received. Scorched five entire acres to ashes with a yawn."

With a crooked smile, I shook my head. "I can do better."

"I _assure_ you he can do better," Rose commented, pecking Uncle Charlie on the cheek. "We had to evacuate the greenhouse once because he set a _Flammande Urtica_ on fire, and those plants grow in the middle of the Sahara Desert."

Ashamed, I coughed. Rose hadn't even told the entire truth— _I was trying to cast an Aquamenti on the plant._ It had been unusually pathetic, even for me.

"Well, boy, you never cease to surprise me," Uncle Charlie said. "A _Flammande Urtica_ on fire... Won't ask about your grades, then."

"Hey!" I protested, outraged. Although Albus Potter plus a wand equalled disaster 98.76% of the time, I had miraculously managed to pass all my practical tests without blowing up the castle. Merlin knows how, I even got an E in Transformations—and I swear I didn't bribe McGonagall.

The door bell rang right before something smashed into The Burrow. With a _creek_ and a _PAM_ and a _SLAM_ and a lot of cries and shouts and complaints, the Weasley-Delacours collapsed into the hallway when Rose spelled the door open.

"Thees is the _last_ time you fly weethout your father, Louis! _Comme tu es maladroit!_ "

"I _told you_ he wasn't ready to fly alone, Mum!"

"Let's all calm down, shall we?"

"But Dad, my nose's bleeding like a fountain because this dwarf is blind and can't see a seven-storey when about to crash into it!"

"Well, yeah, cry me a river, Vic."

"LET'S ALL CALM DOWN, SHALL WE?"

"Charlie, don't yell at the cheeldren!"

"Mum, my head hurts..."

"Dominique, 'tis not the moment!"

"Thank you, Louis—now we all look like bloody Chuckies!"

"Victoire! _Ne dis pas des gros mots, mademoiselle!_ "

Buried under the arms and legs of her parents and siblings, Victoire let out an audible snort.

"Whatever, _Maman_. Just get off me!"

" _S'il te plaît, Victoire! Toujours la même discussion, c'est incroyable..._ Ees it very difficult to say 'pleeease'?"

After having seen her plot with Teddy the worst pranks Hogwarts had ever suffered, I would've _never_ dared tell Victoire anything about her manners, but Aunt Fleur was immune to her daughter's machiavelic mind and angry yells. She didn't move until Victoire rolled her eyes and spat a 'please', and when she did, she took her time, fixing her hair and getting Uncle Bill to his feet.

"Well, hello, family," Uncle Bill coughed, embarrased. The whole family had silently congregated downstairs after they crashed into the façade of The Burrow, and there were well over thirty pairs of eyes staring at the fuss. "It's hot in here, eh?"

Rose grabbed my hand suddenly. "What?" I asked. "Victoire isn't even bleeding that much." She shook her head, but a wide grin gave her away. Something was going on.

Mum and Dad helped Uncle Charlie with the luggage while my cousins finished their open war exchanging some dirty looks and lethal-looking gestures with their wands. Luckily for Louis, the only one who hadn't been to Ollivanders yet, Aunt Fleur was clever enough to confiscate Dominique and Victoire's before anyone ended up in St. Mungo's.

When they all entered the house and the crowd loosened a bit, I made my way to the door to close it. Man, it was hot already, and dense breaths of muggy air entered the hall steadily. I felt like a chicken in the oven.

"My robe is going to melt with this infernal temperature!" Great-grandpa Septimus shouted, having reappeared and behaving like a bear with sore hand.

"Yeah, Great-grandpa, I've been planning that all along," I answered, rolling my eyes. "Opening the door for Uncle Charlie and Aunt Fleur was a mere excuse, I was actually trying to ruin your oil-on-canvas."

"Have your parents not taught you any manners, young boy?" he roared. Thank Merlin, he was a mere splash of paint and not a real wizard anymore, because the way he pointed at me with his wand was pretty scary.

"Oh, they have," I assured him. "Have yours?"

"Albus, stop pestering Grandpa Septimus," Mum barked at me, with the fiercest glare. Only then I remembered that Grandpa Septimus' second portrait was hung in my parents' room. Suddenly sorry for them, I shut up.

That, of course, didn't stop me from praying that his colours melted and mixed with the August heat. More like the opposite.

"Well," Grandma said, clearing her throat, "now that we're all here... Who's hungry?"

Maybe it's a blessing that one loses hearing with age, because the almost fourty "YES" roars would've made her eardrums explode otherwise.

 

Whatever they tell you, it's hard to be sunk in your pit of misery when there's almost twenty more children than usual running around. My cousins disturbed my sadness, and I didn't know whether to be thankful or annoyed.

"Louis, leave my Snitch alone!" I shouted for the hundredth time, scratching the back of his hand so that pain made him let go of the small flying ball. With a cry, he set it free. The poor thing flew away immediately, sheltering at the very corner of the room.

" _MAMAAAN!_ " Louis yelled, crocodile tears already forming and ready to fall. " _Cousin Albus m'a éraflé!_ "

"Stop it with the French," I grunted, sick of hearing those twangy consonants that came from the depths of his throat and made me think of someone throwing up. "Say that in English or shut your trap."

"Louis, leave your cousin alone!" Uncle Bill shouted from the ground storey over the blabber of the other grown-ups.

"But Papa, he hurt me!" the cursed child whimpered, sounding more outraged than actually hurt.

"Your fault if Albus did anything," Victoire joined, appearing in the doorway. "He's a cinnamon roll, so stop bugging him. And if you get what you deserve, don't complain. Hearing your wails is annoying."

With an infuriated pout, Louis stormed off the room, probably to cry his eyes dry to Aunt Fleur. After giving him a look, Victoire entered my room.

"Sorry about him," she apologized. "I think he got all the faulty genes."

"As long as he leaves my Snitch alone, I can handle him," I replied, running my fingers through my hair. "It's just that hate it when people touch my things without my consent, and he's the touching-Albus'-things-without-Albus'-consent type twenty-four seven."

The Snitch described a few circles in agreement before taking up its errant fly again. Its golden shine against the dark blue walls created an interesting effect.

"I _live_ with him," Victoire sighed, "and trust me, I know what you're talking about. Anyway, who gave you a Snitch? _C'est cool_."

Only because I had understood it, I decided to forgive her on using French—but I was on the verge of losing my sanity. After a week of conversations with Aunt Fleur and Louis, who apparently enjoyed speaking French just to annoy me, I wanted to kill myself.

"Scorpius," I replied. "For my birthday. He must be the only guy on Earth who'd think of giving a Snitch as a present. But yeah, it was genious. I love it."

Sitting on my bed and thus crumpling the flower-patterned sheets, Victoire nodded, impressed. "Oh, how I wish I could go back to Hogwarts. To all the scheming and pranking," she sighed.

Right. She had just finished her seventh year and, not having any excuse like Teddy's to stay in the castle, she was officially done with Hogwarts. Realizing that I was crying around the corners because my first year was over while she dealt with the fact that she would never go back made me feel like an insensitive and selfish crybaby. I put a hand on her shoulder, all of my self-pity turning into Victoire-pity.

"Don't worry," I said, squeezing slightly. "We'll carve your name on a wall or something similar. Not as genious as your plans, but hey, better than nothing."

With a guffaw, Victoire got up and hugged me. "You're an angel, Albus, thanks. I'll blow up some toilets in the Ministry for you as well. Just don't let the Gremlings go too soft, will you? Tell Jesper to run wild. I've taught Wylan and him everything I know—they'll do good."

Jesper Fahey? We'd be lucky if he didn't start exploding caudrons on our first week. There was no need to tell him to run wild—he had been born running wild. Victoire laughed when I told her.

"Well, you're right. Cool them off a bit then, if you can. And don't forget to write every time you guys even sneeze, _oui_?"

" _Owee_ ," I tried. It came out as a cow's moan while giving birth. See? That stupid language was driving me nuts.

 

Thank Merlin, the two-week family reunion flew past as we played a hundred different games, went to the river to bath and laze around and stayed up all night talking—except for Louis, who righteously went to bed at 10 PM every day—, and the two last weeks of August were better thanks to the fact that Mum and Dad invited Uncle Ron and the whole crew over. With Rose and Hugo being home, there was no time left for sadness, and I've never had as much fun with a deck of Muggle cards as with our late-night Briscas.

"Ace of clubs," James announced, solemnly gathering all the cards we'd put on the table. "Mine." He high-fived Hugo while Rose tried to kill him with a look. She had wanted to be Hugo's pair, as she had taught him when she discovered the game and together they were practically unstoppable, but James had stolen that honour—and now that her little brother's gift for cards was earning the boys their fourth victory of the night, she looked ready to punch them both.

"Hey, that's unfair! I put a three of cups!" Lily protested. Her little hands couldn't quite hold all three cards together, and her three of coins fell on the carpet, face up. I quickly flipped it and gave it back.

"Didn't see anything," I assured her. She looked like she was going to cry, and I couldn't blame her. She had lost five times in a row already, and now we all knew that she had the second best card of the game.

Aunt Hermione offered her a smile. "Don't worry, Lily—we can still win."

Their next play was the most legendary move I've ever seen. James threw the ace of spades, Merlin knows why, and Hugo acted just as foolish putting the three of clubs on the table. With a shrug and willing to let Lily win, I let a three of clubs fall off my hand, and Rose nonchalantly put the knight of cups. And then, _bang—_ Aunt Hermione, who had bet the ace of coins, nodded, and Lily triumphantly showed us her three of coins before gathering all six cards on the table. They had earned fourty-six points just like that.

"And now, boys, if you forgive me, I'm going to the toilet," she said, leaving the rest of her cards on the table. "And don't bother counting the points, James—we've already won."

My brother looked up from his cards with an outraged look in his eyes. "What? Just how!? I had the ace of spades!"

"Yeah, James, but spades were the trump suit in the last hand. We were playing coins now."

Hugo and James stared at each other wide-eyed. Rose shook her head. "I can't believe you two made the same stupid mistake," she said, with a spark of malice in her eyes. I suspected she somehow had something to do with their stupid mistake.

"It's late." Mum came in holding two cups of tea, one of which she offered to Aunt Hermione. "And you don't want to be late tomorrow, do you?"

Wait.

I visualised a calendar in my mind and started counting. _  
_

_31st. Today was the 31st of August._

With my mouth so open that an owl could have gotten in easily, I quickly turned to look at Rose, who offered me a crooked smile. "See? Summer wasn't that long, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've hit a thousand reads! WOHOOO! Thank you so much for being the spark of magic in my life :) Also, a huge hug (lol) goes to MishiefManaged—thank you for your lovely comment! <3


	10. Chapter 10

Albus Potter's Top 10 memories include both the first ride in the Hogwarts Express and the second one. If getting to Platform Nine and Three Quarters was exciting the first time, I can't find any word in the dictionary that even approaches what I felt the next September the 1st. It was a delightful mixture of nerves, happiness, more nerves, more happiness, extra nerves, extra happiness..., and a slightly roaring hunger. My bad—usually, eating wasn't any struggle for me, but whenever anxiety came in to say hello, my apetite lost the fight...

...Only to get back on its feet a few hours later.

"What was that rumble?" Lily asked, grabbing my hand in worry as we advanced towards the column that separated the Muggle platforms from ours. Poor thing.

"It was me," I confessed. "Or rather my stomach. Sorry, Lil, I didn't have breakfast today."

Knowing me as she did, my sister opened her eyes wide in shock. "What? Don't lie to me, Al. You _never_ skip a meal. What was that? You two are running something, aren't you? James, don't scare me! I-I've grown up, and I'm not afraid of you anymore!"

"Afraid of who?"

James' face appeared in front of us, like a stuffed reindeer's head hung above some rich old man or equally rich illegal hunter's chimney. It might have passed as an innocent prank had it not been for Lily's piercing scream, which attracted half of London's attention towards the floating head in the middle of the station.

"AAAAH—!" she yelled, stumbling backwards and clinging onto my shirt. A little girl's weight may not be excessive, but a little girl's weight plus gravity plus inertia plus Merlin knows which other physical forces sure was. Her pull made me fall as well, and my trunk decided it was going to join the party—soon Lily, my clothes and I were tangled in a mess on the cold marble floor of the station. Many passersby got their phones out and started taking photographs of the whole thing, considerate and polite as they were. I briefly considered cursing them all.

Thank Merlin, Mum was faster.

"EVERYONE, STOP PHOTOGRAPHING MY KIDS! STOP IT, I'VE SAID!" With an outraged look that would've petrified a werewolf, she slaughtered with her eyes a man that was taking pictures of us as if the world were to end. "Haven't you heard me?"

Smiling dangerously, Mum took his phone from his hands. Nothing good ever came from such a grin, I'm telling you. Hadn't he taken a billion photos of me, I would've been sorry for him.

"Do I have to throw this under the train's wheels for you to listen?"

"No, ma'am!"

"Great. Now, everyone's getting back to minding _their_ business."

Who was she trying to fool? The phone ended up on the track anyway.

 

"YOU'RE GOING TO BE PUNISHED FOR THE NEXT SIX SUMMERS, JAMES SIRIUS POTTER!"

My brother—my fearless, bold and daring brother, whom I had never seen play chicken, not even when Uncle George's prank with the Boggart and the matryoshka got a tad out of control—shrank his head between his shoulders, mumbling something which I guess was pretty close to 'Merlin, let the Heavens pulverize me with a bolt so that I don't have to be lectured in front of the whole school'.

"Um, Ginny, I think he already—"

"Don't, Harry. He's not getting away with it this time! OVER FOURTY MUGGLES SAW A FLOATING FACE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BRICK WALL, JAMES. DO YOU THINK THAT WAS FUN!? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!? THERE'S HALF OF THE MINISTRY ON THE OTHER SIDE TRYING TO FIX THE MESS YOU'VE MADE!"

"But I didn't want to—"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT WHAT YOU WANTED TO DO, JAMES. ONE WOULD THINK THAT, BEING THIRTEEN, YOU ARE A MORELESS RESPONSIBLE PERSON, BUT OF COURSE YOU ARE _NOT._ "

"Mum, the entire Hogwarts is—"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE ENTIRE HOGWARTS, JAMES."

And so it went on. A few people were decent enough to look away and pretend that their children were departing to war and not to school, mimicking the most dramatic and impressive goodbyes I've ever witnessed, but most weren't that polite. Some were even writing down the entire reprimand, most probably to earn a galleon or two by selling it to _Witch Weekly_ later. Shame on their brooms. Someone should teach them morals.

"May I presume you're not enjoying this as much as you seem to, and that you're dying to get on board and tell me about your summer?"

Someone put a hand on my shoulder, and I shivered at the contact.

"You may," I answered, feeling my lips twist into a huge smile. I placed my own hand on Scorpius', turning to see his face.

Maybe it wasn't a specially notorious change, but I noticed that his features had sharpened slightly. Don't take me wrong, he still looked like a side character from _Babbity Rabbity: The Animated Series—_ but there was something more... mature to him. Maybe the way his eyes sparkled under the lowcost LEDs of the platform, or maybe his slightly crouched way of standing up. Whatever it was, it made him look like something off a painting more than ever before.

"Albus," he pompously said, tilting his head.

"Scorpius..." I began. While I mocked a bow, I drew closer and whispered in his ear, "... _Hyperion_."

"Hey!" With a frown, he folded his arms over his chest and glared at me, his lips rounded into a perfect 'O'. "That's not a proper way to greet your friends after three months..., _Severus_."

Although Mum's yells at James were still perfectly audible, the slightest noises disappeared when he said that. Suddenly, it was only Scorpius, Albus and the fact that he had just dared say my second name out loud—nothing else existed.

"No, you haven't," I slowly said, barely moving my mouth.

"Yes, I have," he defied me, his silvery eyes faintly gleaming.

I noticed their colour had lightened slightly. If they had been grey like the ocean in a cloudy morning before, they were the clouds themselves now. Making myself a mental note to ask Rose whether that was possible or I was going nuts, I focused again on the situation, flexing and extending my fingers to prepare them for the upcoming tickling battle.

Many people claim everyone has a small gift, and here's mine: I can sense tickle battles approaching. Bet you've never seen something as useful in your life.

"Scorpius, behave," a musical voice chirped. My friend, who had bent down for presumably the same reason why I was moving my fingers like they were an agonic spider's legs, stiffened.

"Yes, Mum." A sheepish look misted his eyes as he looked back at the woman besides him.

What was wrong with Scorpius family, that everyone looked like a Greek god? Astoria Malfoy might as well have been Ravena from _The Lost Crown_ , with her jet black hair framing her heart-shaped face and the touch of elegance and refinement in her posture. Although she looked good in her white mac and black skinny trousers, a sleeveless red dress would've suited her even better—because Scorpius' mother looked ready to walk the catwalk under a thousand flashes and pleas for an interview.

"Hello, young man," she greeted me, flashing a charming smile. "I'm Astoria, Scorpius' mother. May I presume you're Albus Potter? Scorpius has talked to us about you much."

Mystery solved: know I knew whom had Scorpius inherited his grammar from.

"I—I am," I stuttered, feeling like an idiot for being left so stunned by my best friend's mother and feeling like an idiotic idiot for stuttering over my best friend's mother's stunning stunningness. "My pleasure."

Wait, does 'stunningness' even exist?

Nevermind.

"How has your summer been?" Mrs Malfoy asked me. Although it sounded like a rather courtesy question, she somehow managed to sound interested in an utter stranger's holidays.

"Great, ma'am, thanks—I've spent it with my whole family, I can't complain. It's been real fun. What about yours? Scorpius told me you were staying at your husband's... erm... Scorpius' grandparents' house."

Was it polite to talk about her husband directly? Was it not? Did it even matter?

"Yes," she nodded, with another snow-white smile framed by her cherry lips. "We have spent most of the summer with my parents-in-law. We are fewer than your family, but we can't complain, either. Scorpius told us that one of your uncles works with dragons—is that correct? I've always found them beautiful, in a way."

"It's true," I nodded. "Uncle Charlie. He's worked in a Romanian reservoir for over twenty years now—and he grows crazier about them each day. They have just received an Ukrainian Ironbelly that almost roasts them all to death daily, and he still talks about it as if it were his newborn first child."

Mrs Malfoy laughed. "I can relate to him," she assured me. "When I was young, I longed to be a dragon caretaker. Everything in them fascinates me—from the first to the last flake."

"Really?" Scorpius intervened, intertwining his pinkie with his mother's. Marble against marble. "I didn't know that."

"Yes," she nodded. "Care of Magical Creatures was my favourite subject at Hogwarts. We didn't work with real dragons, of course, although our teacher did love them... I asked him once, and he told me he had had one for a short time."

"Which he had," a tall man intervened. "I witnessed its birth from the other side of a dirty window, and I can assure you Hagrid _did_ have a dragon. A Norwegian Ridgeback, to be precise."

He put his right hand on Scorpius' shoulder and squeezed, completing the picture of the best-looking family of all times. Mr Malfoy was a few inches taller than his wife, and his white-blond hair matched his son's. Although he was smiling, I noticed there was a certain sadness in his light eyes as he looked at Scorpius—a certain tiredness.

"I suppose you're Albus Potter? Nice to meet you at last. I am Draco Malfoy, Scorpius' father."

Bless Dad, who saved me from a very awkward situation right as Mr Malfoy spoke. He had given up on trying to calm Mum down, I guess. "It's been a long time, Malfoy."

Mr Malfoy blinked, his eyebrows arching in a very familiar way as he noticed my father standing behind me. "Ditto, Potter. A very long time."

With the typical awkwardness brought by meeting your old archenemy, Dad and Mr Malfoy shook each other's hands. I looked up to find that my father's smile was something between a grin and a constipation face—something that would've made every newspaper's day.

"So... how are things at the Ministry?" Mr Malfoy asked after a short yet terribly tense silence, clearing his throat.

"I don't know if I should talk about it..." Rubbing the back of his neck, Dad shook his head. "But oh well. There have been riots in Glasgow to protest against the new Law of Magic Witnesses. Seven in August, and it's wracking the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee's nerves. Many of the protesters seem to have forgotten that magic must be kept a secret, and there have been dozens of magic displays in front of Muggles—it's almost impossible to remain hidden with them messing around. If we don't stop this now, our existence will leak out, and it will be a catastrophe. Hermione even had a panic attack during a meeting last week."

Mrs Malfoy's eyes opened widely as she covered her mouth.

"Oh, dear—how come we didn't know anything?"

With a sorry smile, Dad ran a hand through his hair. "We don't want people to start thinking witch hunts are going to be back. Plus, some may join the riots or start their own in other parts of the country if they knew, as not many are pleased by the Law. We don't want to scaremonger the community—we hope we'll be able to handle this on our own. So, naturally, if you don't say anything..."

"We won't," Mrs Malfoy promised, nodding. Rebel strands of her hair brushed Scorpius' cheek, which he absent-mindedly scratched.

"Thanks," Dad sighed. "Anyway, how are you?"

It was Mr Malfoy who took the baton of politeness. "We can't complain, to be honest. Astoria has set up a small atelier, and I'm not the only one who finds her paintings beautiful—she's already well-known in our village." With an affectionate smile, he passed an arm over his wife's shoulders and gently squeezed her against him.

Before things got too cheesy—and thus awkward—, Rose popped up out of the blue.

"Scorpius!" she sang, delighted. "It's great to see you again! Have you finally come to terms with the fact that Nynnamus II wasn't any hero?"

"Rose! It's great to see you again! Have you finally come to terms with the fact that Nynnamus II actually saved all the witches and wizards of his kingdom sacrificing himself?"

"Nope."

"Nope."

With a cheerful guffaw, Rose gave Scorpius a quick hug, then shook her head. "Merlin knows I missed these arguments. Hello, Mr Malfoy, Mrs Malfoy. I am Rose Weasley, pleased to meet you."

Polite as always, Rose offered Scorpius' parents her hand. Mrs Malfoy laughed. "Hello, young girl. I am Astoria Greengrass, Scorpius' mother. My pleasure." While her smile was radiant, her husband seemed to be choking on something. After closing his eyes, he nodded and shook Rose's hand as well. I noticed how he grabbed his wife's immediately after.

"Oh, I forgot I am invisible," Dad complained, playfully mussing Rose's hair. "Where's my kiss?"

Rose pointed at the Hogwarts Express with her thumb. "Oh, I guess it boarded already. It might or might not come down and say 'hi' if you ask for it politely."

"Oh, don't go all snobby on me, Rosie. It's too early in the morning."

My cousin laughed and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Dad on his cheek.

"Love you even if it doesn't look like it," she assured him. "I have to say goodbye to my parents—back in a second, Al, Scorpius."

Her tunique waving as she ran, Rose sprinted towards Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione and Hugo, who hugged her like she was a plushie. All of a sudden, the Hogwarts Express went crazy and started whistling and fuming, as if it were holding a meeting of compulsive smokers and one of them had decided it would be a great idea to open all windows. Coughing, I saw people leaping into the coaches.

"Erm, boarding couldn't hurt," I said, worried. Missing the train after three months craving for a ride didn't precisely fit in my schemes.

"Right," Mrs Malfoy said. She bowed down to look at her son right in the eye, and her splendid smile lost its light. Scorpius being their only son, they must be lonely without him around. Or, at least, miss him a heavy lot. "Scorpius..."

Holding her hand, he kissed his mother's cheek. "I'll write every day, if you want me to," he offered. "But I'm going to miss the train if I don't get on board right now."

Mr and Mrs Malfoy looked at each other briefly before wrapping Scorpius up in a bear hug. "Do write every day," Mr Malfoy told him, patting his back.

"Guys, the train's doors are closing!" Rose cried, running away from her parents and towards us. She grabbed my sleeve without even slowing down, and pulled me along. "And I'm not staying here!"

Unable to break free from Rose's prey, I blew a kiss to my father and to my mother, who was finally done lecturing James—although she was still glaring at my brother's grumpy face, which rested against one of the train's windows—and trying to fight her tears back. Her grip onto Lily's shoulder was fierce. Guess who was going to become the princess of the house for the next months.

As I threw myself into the train as if I were Indiana Jones, I saw Astoria Malfoy crying in her husband's arms.

 

Just like the cool guys from action movies, the three of us jumped into a coach a milisecond before the doors closed. Just like the fools from comic movies, the three of us almost broke our knees when we landed on the train's carpeted floor. And just like any idiot who isn't sat when the vehicle they're in starts moving, the three of us ended up tangled in a mess of legs and arms and tuniques and Rose's long hair.

It was being my day, wasn't it?

"Ouch," Scorpius complained as we stood and tried to retrieve the small pieces of our dignity. "That hurt."

"You serious, Sherlock?"

"Completely, Watson. Can someone please help me? I hurt my knee badly."

Rolling my eyes, I passed Scorpius' arm over my shoulders so that his weight fell onto me. He was lighter than I expected.

"Let's get into a carriage and check that knee," Rose suggested. While I helped Scorpius hobble along the corridor, she peeked into every compartment there was. "Sorry! Never mind me, guys... Whoops, I'll leave you two alone... Hello, how are you... Hi... Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt... Hey, how was your summer... Nice to see you again, Chuck... Hey there... Hello... Al, this one's free."

After checking half the cabins of the train, Rose slided a door open and held it so that I could help Scorpius get in. He fell onto the red padded seats like a rock, bouncing slightly. Letting out a painful sigh, he closed his eyes. "Much better."

"Let me see your knee," Rose asked. "If it looks bad, we can put ice on it."

"And where are you going to get it from?"

Both Rose and Scorpius, who was pulling up the left leg of his dark trousers, lifted their eyes and stared at me like I said something of a terribly deep idiocy.

"Albus," she slowly began, "do you know what a wand is and its purpose?"

Closing my eyes, I let that slowly sink in. Of course. The wands. But hey, it wasn't entirely my fault—after a life of pyrotechnics, I wasn't used to solving things with a flick of the wand.

"Okay, okay, didn't say a thing. Nevermind me."

"Oh, I wasn't going to anyway," Rose answered, sticking her tongue out. I was about to tickle her to death when Scorpius' pained hiss caught my attention.

His knee looked like one of those maps coloured according to the temperatures—it was at least seven shades of purple and maroon. It hurt to even peek at it. Of course he hadn't been able to walk—the poor guy's knee was a mess.

"I may or may not throw up," I announced, looking into Scorpius' eyes to avoid seeing the... Thing. 

"Come on, Al, you've seen worse," Rose said, pulling her hair into a ponytail. For some odd reason, she wasn't able to focus on anything if she didn't wear it that way. "Remember when Hugo fell off the broom last summer?"

"I try not to," I replied, shivering at the memory. Cruent images of tore skin and a lot of blood blossomed in my mind anyway, provoking a wave of nausea. "Thanks for the reminder, Rose. Exactly what I needed."

"What happened?" Scorpius asked. He was strangely quiet, staring at his knee as if it were a small green man from Mars telling him about how tiny the Earth looked from its planet.

"We were playing Hide and Seek in a forest, and—"

"Don't," I cut her off, fighting the urge to puke. "Tell him when I'm not around. I'm serious, I'm going to throw up. I feel horrible."

The train found a bump on the railway, and the small shake almost did the trick. Swallowing the bitter taste that menaced to ruin the nice red carpet on the floor, I massaged my temple.

"Albus," Scorpius called. "Here."

I sat down on the floor besides him, something which would have earned me death had any responsible person seen me, and rested my head against the edge of the seat. Scorpius placed his hand on my forehead. It was cool and nice, and as smooth as it seemed.

"Aw, guys, you're two big crybabies," Rose complained. "Specially you, Al—as far as I'm concerned, you didn't just mess up your knee. Anyway, where's my wand...?"

"Shut it," I croaked. "Don't mention the ruddy knee. Your wand's either on the floor or in your left pocket."

"What's up with that cursing?" Scorpius teased. "You're feeling real bad, aren't you?"

"Just let me die here," I quietly pleaded. I heard his soft laugh, which was just like his mother's—not exactly musical, but there was a certain rythm to it.

"As you wish," he answered.

 

Our arrival to Hogwarts wasn't even decent. While Rose convinced the engine driver to wait until we had gotten down to leave, I helped Scorpius limp down the long corridor to the nearest exit. Somehow the teachers had learnt what had happened to his knee, and although Rose had conjured almost a ton of ice to keep it from swelling up, it looked terrible—so the moment we went down, professor Longbottom gave him a piggyback ride to the infirmary. Not caring about whether I missed the Sorting Ceremony or not—no relative was facing it that night, so for all I cared, the kiddos could manage without me staring—, I accompanied them.

"Ironic," professor Longbottom commented. "A year ago, I was carrying Albus to Mrs. Pomfrey's with you by his side, and now you two have switched the roles."

I looked up to the stars, which calmly shone from their super faraway places, bathing the forest we were walking through in their whiteish light. True. Almost three hundred and sixty-five days before, Uncle Fred had Ghostly Occupied me. It seemed so distant, yet it hadn't been that long since it happened.

While I thought of the memories he had left with me, my foot decided it wanted to have an affair with a root and I landed on the floor with an audible 'thump', face completely buried in the dirt. Way to go. All thumbs up, gravity.

"Oh, Albus, what am I going to do with you," Scorpius dramatically said while I got back on my feet, "always stealing the show."

"Do me a favour and drop dead," I grunted, rubbing my face with the sleeves of the robe. The mud on my face felt fresh and sticky, slowly running down my forehead and cheeks. A dense drop fell from my chin, plopping to the floor with a squishy sound.

Professor Longbottom laughed. "To think that you two are Harry and Malfoy's children."

Scorpius didn't answer. I didn't know whether he felt bad or uncomfortable because of the teacher's statement, so I reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, just in case. He squeezed back, and even though I wasn't looking at him, I could tell there was a shy smile on his face, the one he always put on when he didn't feel at ease with the situation or was embarrassed.

"Anyway, how did you end up with this mess of a knee, Scorpius?" Professor Longbottom asked. Although he tried to conceal it, the sound of him clearing his throat evidenced that he didn't know how to pick up the conversation again.

"Jumping into the train," he answered completely serious. "Literally jumping into the train."

"Not recommended," I added. "It's not a pleasant experience."

The teacher's laughed seemed to echo across the forest. "Worry not, boys, it wasn't something I planned on doing anytime soon. Next time, please remember that you can get on board like normal people, not like frogs—no one will punish you for _walking_ into the train."

"I'll keep that in mind."

 

Finally, after a long walk, the castle's silhouette overlapped the moon, and old Hogwarts welcomed us back in all its magnificence. I couldn't help a happy sigh when I saw the towers again. There was something to its build, to the way bricks had witnessed and endured so many things, that comforted me whenever I saw it, and it wasn't any different this time. Closing my eyes—and stopping on my tracks to make sure gravitational forces didn't mess up with me again—, I let the familiar feeling sink in. A grin slowly spread across my face as Hogwarts doused me in its spirit.

"You look like you're having an epiphany," Scorpius observed. Professor Neville laughed at that, stopping and turning to glance at me.

"And what if I am? Let me be."

"I don't care whether you're seeing Virgin Mary or not," he urged me after a few seconds, "but it's cold out here and my knee hurts like one of the Chudley Cannons' matches, so move it, Albus."

"Hey!" I protested, jogging towards them to punch Scorpius' shoulder. We got in and started traversing corridors to get to the infirmary. The Sorting Ceremony's din was faintly audible, even though we were on opposite wings of the castle. It must be the greatest Sorting Ceremony of all history.

"Easy," Professor Longbottom warned me.

"Uncle Ron is the Chudley Cannons' greatest fan, Malfoy, so watch your mouth—you don't want Rose to hear what you just said," I informed him as we walked down the stone corridors. Our footsteps echoed across the ancient walls. "You might wake up with bats coming out of your nose."

"What?" he laughed. "What's up with the bat thing?"

"Family recipe." Shrugging, I fluttered a hand to scare an annoying fly away. "The best Bat-Bogey hexes of this century."

"I think I can get through without that experience," Scorpius decided.

Wise boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY! I'm having all my finals this week and the next one, and I had to study hard for today's—impossible to write. Thank Merlin, the exams I have left aren't hardcore memorization but mostly knowing your onions with maths and chemical stuff, so this won't happen again next week. I'm really sorry! Hope your finals are going better than mine (not difficult) and that this chapter has gotten you some mental rest from them :)


	11. Chapter 11

Luckily for Scorpius, his knee was actually much less of a mess than it seemed, and Mrs Pomfrey was able to fix it waving her wand. All bruises and scratches lost their vivid colours and faded before my eyes, like something under Scorpius' skin was draining them, replaced by the marble tone I was used to. It's certainly not something you witness daily, not even having been raised in a huge— _huge—_ family of wizards and witches, but while I gulped and my eyes battled to jump out of their sockets, Scorpius didn't even blink. Maybe it was because he was strong, or maybe he had mentally passed out. Considering my own disgust at the healing process, my pride chose to believe in the second theory.

"Done, boys," Mrs Pomfrey tenderly said, patting Scorpius' now perfect knee. "After what happened last October, Mr Potter, one would expect you to avoid the infirmary for a while."

"I meant to," I assured her, scratching mud off my sleeve, "but Scorpius here decided that breaking his knee sounded like an awesome way to start our second year."

The old lady laughed, helping Scorpius get on his feet and stretching the baby blue sheets. "He didn't break it, thankfully," she explained, "because that would have been a lot more painful. It was only the cruciate ligament, which tore a bit. Nothing a good dose of magic can't solve."

"In my defence, I didn't want to break my knee nor tear my ligament," Scorpius protested. "For Merlin's sake, I just wanted to get into the train on time but my parents wouldn't let go. Mum's massive hug is to blame, not me."

"Yeah, let your mother take the heat, gentleman." My frown made Mrs Pomfrey laugh, a chuckle like fire crackling.

"Boys, return to the Great Hall," she finally told us off, pushing us towards the door. "Those stomachs are roaring for what's theirs."

Mine sure was.

"Alright, alright," I said, raising my hands. "If it's for you, then I'll sacrifice and eat."

While I spoke, my belly decided it was a nice moment to get itself noticed, and produced the loudest roar a human body has ever let out. Lions could be answering at that from the Serenghetti, wondering why the wizards was a lad in the middle of the UK crying for help.

"It sounds like a huge sacrifice, yes," Scorpius observed, nodding in mock understanding.

For the twelfth time that day, I rolled my eyes. "Oh, shut it."

 

September quietly slipped by as we complained because teachers expected us to actually remember everything we had been taught in our first year, ate a lot of pumpkin pies and enjoyed the breeze that swirled the Black Lake under the trees. Although Hogwarts was enough to elate me every single day with its charm, it wasn't the only thing that plastered a constant grin on my face—October grew closer every hour, which meant that Salazar's Pit grew closer every hour.

"Ten days..." I would randomly tell Scorpius, offering him a maniac smile.

"...to glory," he would always answer me, beaming just as wide and creepily.

"...to stop hearing this all the time," Rose ended up intervening, rubbing her temple. "Merlin knows I can't wait for you to go—just so that you tone down this overexcitement. It can't be healthy to stay hyperactive all week round."

"Oh, it probably isn't." Scorpius nonchalantly shrugged. "But who says healthy and fun go hand in hand every time?"

Cheeky boy. Apart from James, Teddy and I, he was the only one who dared pull Rose's leg and somehow stayed alive afterwards. I must admit he made me proud—I had taught him well.

Along with October, the month of midnight hours and traditions, came an owl from my parents. Unluckily for me, they had sent Wendelin, who for some reason hated me with all her passion. While I pulled the envelope and tried to free it from her buck, she raised one of her thin chicken legs and ran her curved nails down my forearm, leaving three paths of bright blood.

Lily's odd love for the feathered demon was the only thing that kept me from choking it and baking its corpse for dinner.

"They called him 'The Owl Tamer'," Scorpius teased as I fought Wendelin over the letter. He was already curled up under the sheets like a puppy.

"Thanks for your help," I grunted. "If it weren't for this stupid, ugly, good-for-nothing bird..."

As if it had understood me, the stupid, ugly, good-for-nothing bird let out an outraged squeak and, letting go of the envelope, it pecked my hand with all her hate.

"Cursed owl!" I howled, fighting tears. "Wendelin, you've ran out of luck. I don't care whether Lily worships you or not, stupid beast. Your days are counted—just wait and you'll find yourself making a delicious soup for dinner."

With what I swear was a glance of scorn, the bird jumped through the window and into the night before I could get my wand and turn it into a roasted chicken.  Holding my hand, which bled just as much as my arm, I cursed the Merlinforsaken creature a thousand times in my mind.

"Albus, your right limb from the elbow down is a complete mess," Scorpius kindly informed me, sitting up. The green sheets slid from his chest like a 90% cotton waterfall. "Do you want me to heal it?"

"Don't worry," I muttered, chewing on my lip. "It's late, and I don't want you to accidentally turn my hand into a tentacle just because you're sleepy. I'll let this heal the Muggle way."

"Brave as always," he cheered me. "At least let me remove the blood—it's disgusting."

While he waved his wand to clean my sheets, I reached for the letter—which Wendelin had politely ripped—and tried to mend the pieces of paper, whispering the terrible destinies I was considering for the devilish bird. It took some time, but I was finally able to get a legible thing. Only when I had the result before me I thought I could've casted a Reparo.

_'Dearest Ginny,_

_As I suppose you will be sending this to Albus, I will directly write this part of the letter for him. There are many things I want to tell you, though, so please make sure you read the other pages._

_Dear Albus,_

_I have received word via Seamus Finnigan that you will be visiting me with Scorpius Malfoy and your mother beginning on October the 12th. Only a week away! Seamus and I are delighted and cannot wait to make your acquaintance. I have already recommended a few inns and even hotels to your mother, all of them just some streets away from my home. Perhaps we should give you one day to rest from the long journey, yes? So if convenient, we will meet you at my house on the morning of October the 13th at perhaps ten o'clock for a cup of tea and for me to finally get to know the two readers that have reached me, both literally and metaphorically, the most. And then perhaps afterward we can tour Salazar's Pit or the Flake Forest together?_

_With all best wishes,_

_Luna Lovegood.'_

"SCORPIUS," I cried out, never minding the fact that it was well past 11 PM. Rory turned and tossed under the covers, and raised his hand just enough to show me a very obscene finger. "Read this. Now."

Anxious, I handed him the pieces of paper, eating my nails down. Merlin Merlin Merlin Merlin MERLIN, we were heading to Luna Lovegood's house in a week and that was just seven days away and Scorpius and I were going to finally meet her and we would be visiting her village as well and it was too good to be real and I could think of were the thousand ways such an event could happen and I even forgot how to properly breathe.

While Scorpius assembled the puzzle and then read the letter, caressing his cheek in a distracted movement of the thumb, I fixed my eyes on him and stared intensely, waiting for his reaction. When he reached Luna's curly and flourished signature, he piled all the papers in silence and handed them to me, without speaking a word. I took them, worried, and crawled across my bed to let the yellowish flakes fall into my open trunk. "You alright?" I asked, unsure. "I mean, maybe you don't like the idea of going with my mother, which would be completely normal, because you don't know her, and you don't have to—"

He shushed me. "I won't talk," he whispered, "because I'm afraid my screams would wake up the entire castle. Maybe even revive Binns."

"If the price is Binn's second life," I interrupted him, "then for Merlin's sake, keep quiet."

Nodding in agreement—not even Scorpius, a huge fan of history, wanted Binns breathing again—, he flexed and stretched his index finger a few times, asking me to sit by his side. Obedient, I yawned as I moved from my bed to his, sleepy yet curious... yet sleepy. My bed was calling me, I swear.

"Albus Severus Potter," he whispered in my ear, and I could feel his smile. "Do you know just how awesome it is that you have been invited to Luna Lovegood's house and endured a whole year of waiting, and that you're going to visit her in a week with your mother?"

"Yeah, but—"

"And do you know just how uh-mazing it is," he went on, ignoring me, "that you've decided to invite me for some unknown reason, and that I'm going to go with you to the best writer of this century's house?"

"Wait," I said, my hurt hand bleeding again due to the shake of my body, "so you're coming? They let you? You want to? I mean—"

"Yes," he confirmed, triumphant. "I want to go, and I've convinced my parents, during the summer, that it'd be a sin to forbid me from visiting Lovegood with you. I have to send them an owl, so that they know about the dates and such, but for Merlin's sake, of course I'm going!"

An unknown and invasive glee took over me, making my blood efervescent like Pepto Bismol and my thoughts fuzzy as well. All I wanted to do was screaming and jumping from bed to bed and screaming and celebrating and screaming and partying and screaming, but mostly screaming my joy out to the world. Maybe a little bit of screaming here and there. Trying to stay sane, I furiously bit my lip, piercing it, and gave Scorpius a strong and passionate hug. I needed to know that he was real, that he was actually there accepting to come with me and that he wasn't any hallucination nor vision nor Ghostly Someone messing up with my hopes.

"This is so jettartastic," I mumbled, my forehead pressed against his cheek. "And yeah, I just made up that word."

"I suspected so," he laughed, patting my back. Maybe it was an awkward pat and he wanted me to let go, but I really needed to hold something, someone, that kept me from doing some insanity that would get me punished. And I was _not_ going to hug Rory MacPherson.

Scorpius was... fragile. Not like glass, but like a bird—and not like the devilish Wendelin, but like a newborn robin. He wasn't muscular, and his bones felt somehow light when I squeezed him, as if they were twigs that would break if I pushed too far. In the silence of the closed night, I could hear his heart, which beat quickly—I took a conceited pride in my letter being the cause of the fast-paced rythm inside his chest. Yeah. Just like a bird, Scorpius felt as if he were to fly free and away any moment.

He luckily didn't.

"So." I finally pulled apart, still smiling. "Now that _the both of us_ are officially invited to Luna's house, what do you have to say, my dearest Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy?"

His naughty smile told me before his voice.

"Merlin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update!


	12. Chapter 12

We weren't meant to depart until Friday afternoon, but I nonetheless woke Scorpius up at five thirty, casting a Lumos and shouting, "SALAZAR'S PIT!" Loud as I was, my screams _accidentally_ woke Rory and his neuronless gorilla, Zabini, who looked like he would've been delighted to choke me with the pillow hadn't he needed it to fall asleep again. While Scorpius tried not to die from a horrisone mixture of laughter and yawn that came from the depths of his throat, I started checking our luggage like crazy. Yes, we had packed our chosen special editions and unimportant things like underwear or proper shirts. Yes, I wasn't going to be lectured for forgetting my coat at the castle. No, Wendelin hadn't pooed inside my backpack. Yet.

Nerves lasted for the whole day. Scorpius and I were ready by six fifteen, but it didn't mean the rest of the world was—just like regular wizards, we had to face our Friday classes before embarking on the most awesome adventure ever. Although he had a moral opposition to eating before dawn on the grounds that he "wasn't a nineteenth-century English peasant fortifying himself for a day in the fields", I ended up dragging Scorpius to the Great Hall for the sake of a decent breakfast. Taming the excited twists of my stomach, I stuffed myself like a Christmas turkey—only, this turkey was full of cereal and porridge and milk and orange juice and apple pie.

"Why are breakfast foods breakfast foods?" Scorpius asked while munching on his eggs. "Like, why don't we have curry for breakfast?"

The few students who were already awake and trying not to doze off over their cereal bowls peeked at him. One of them was Rose, who waved at us absently and returned her hollow stare to the glass of milk before her.

"Scorpius, just eat."

My mind was busy with more important issues than the meal status of eggs.

"But _why?_ " he insisted, pointing at his food with a fork. "I mean, seriously: How did scrambled eggs get stuck with breakfast exclusivity? You can put bacon on a sandwich without anyone freaking out. But the moment your sandwich has an egg, boom, it's a _breakfast_ sandwich."

"Look, when we come back, we'll have breakfast for dinner. Deal?"

Who was I trying to fool? There was _never_ an easy way out such as 'deal' when Scorpius—or, Rose, for that matter—got stuck with one of these random speeches. But having always been one to ramble about either the weirdest or the most common and insignificant things in life, depending on the day, it would've been a hypocrisy of mine to criticise him.

"I don't want to have 'breakfast for dinner'," he answered, crossing knife and fork over his mostly full plate. "I want to have scrambled eggs without this ridiculous construction that a scrambled egg-inclusive meal is _breakfast_ even when it occurs at dinnertime."

I stared at him for a second. A loud creech hurt my ears when I accidentally let my knife slip across the porcelain doused in peach jam.

"Rose! If you're not too busy trying to see your future in the milk, would you mind coming over and discussing breakfast exclusivity with Scorpius here? My IQ is not up to the mark this early in the morning."

"People like _you_ got eggs stuck with the breakfast exclusivity tag," grumbled Scorpius, menacing me with the covered-in-orange-yolk fork.

"You have to pick your battles in this world, Scorpius," my cousin said, sitting besides me. "But if this is the issue you want to champion, we will stand behind you."

"Quite a bit behind you," I added, squeezing Rose's shoulder in welcome. "Morning, Rose. Milk said anything about us?"

After two yawns she replied, "Yeah. That you're an imbecile and that it'll rain the second you guys take your brooms to get to Salazar's Pit."

"Great to know it—thank the odds we're using Flu Powder this time."

As she punched my shoulder, she smiled to Scorpius. "I'm sorry that you have to travel with this jerk of a human being. Are you nervous?"

"Rose, didn't you just hear him protesting against breakfast exclusivity?"

"Maybe a little bit," Scorpius admitted. "I have never done anything like this, so I don't know what to expect."

Both Potter cousins smiled at him which, now that I think of it, must have been slightly creepy. One? Suspicious. But two? Scary.

"Expect my disaster of a relative to behave like he's on energy drinks all day round," Rose told him. "And my aunt to offer you even the keys to Heaven's gates. I have stayed at five-star hotels in which room service was worse than her."

Setting his infamous eggs aside, Scorpius tapped his chin with his fingertips. "Keys to Heaven? Sounds cool. How much do you think people will pay for them on Sorcerer Sales?"

"Less than if you auction them at eBay. Muggle Knocturn Alley, you know," I added when he tilted his head, confused.

Professor Lidewij, who was walking past where we were right then, turned her head to give me a strange look. Flashing her a maniac smile did the trick, and she didn't stop to ask.

"Let it be eBay, then," Scorpius decided. "So that I can earn Muggle cash and then spend it on going to Disney World or someplace that symbolic. What, Albus?"

"Nothing," I answered, shaking my head. "It's just that I didn't expect you to be a Disney World guy. My heart is broken right now."

"Are you kidding me? Disney World is very famous among Muggles."

"Yeah, but it doesn't guarantee quality. Trust me, I've been there."

Laughter from Rose startled Scorpius in his seat. "He had to queue two hours for The Magic Carpets of Aladdin, and it stopped working the moment he sat in the carriage."

Pout to pensative gesture to weird face to guffaw, Scorpius let me know that _yes,_ he had imagined my nine-year-old self waiting for his turn to ride The Magic Carpets of Aladin, and _no_ , he wasn't going to show any mercy.

"Says the girl who sang her throat sore at the karaoke," I fired back at Rose, crossing my arms. "Because let me remind you I wasn't who ruined _From Zero to Hero_ for ages until Aunt Hermione discretely casted a Muffilato."

Eyes wide in shock, Rose stared at me. " _What!?_ I thought it was because I had sung too much!"

"Nope." Evil tasted good. "It was Aunt Hermione. And you'd better thank her, because Uncle Ron swore you'd become an orphan if he heard one more note out of pitch."

Rose looked the way a person who has lived a lie all their life does when they're told the truth. Miserable and betrayed.

"I hate you, Albus Potter."

"Thanks."

 

After Scorpius rambled a tad more about the scrambled eggs' rights and Rose tried to hex me for ruining her childhood over twenty times, she left for her Charms class while we headed to—horror!—History of Magic. Fifty minutes with Binns was never a good way to start the morning, nor even decent; but the imminence of our trip managed to keep me in an excellent mood as I entered the class and sat behind the desk. Merlin knows it was a miracle; Scorpius couldn't believe it when I got a piece of parchment and a quill out.

"Tell me this is for real," he hushed, his eyes wide open. "Albus Potter is going to take notes in History of Magic! You're pulling my leg."

"Dearest Scorpius, your leg remains untouched. I am, effectively, going to take notes in History of Magic, thank you very much for acknowledging it."

"Where's the trick? I'm not buying this."

Our non-living teacher entered the classroom through the wall, coughing his lungs out. It wasn't anything unusual, but it was the first time in a year and a month that I paid attention to him, so it caught me off-guard. My startle, though, only surprised Scorpius more.

"You've noticed Binns! This must be a weird dream. I'll wake up to the normal, apathic Albus in no time."

Never minding his students and the loud chatter, nor the magical flying paper planes that pirouetted from one side of the clasroom to the other never missing the loop in the middle of where his stomach ought to be, the teacher "sat" on the chair and rubbed his moustache before starting with the lesson.

"Gemerius the Brute was born in 1352, the seventh son to Jarica and Pleberius Thornebush..."

With my neatest handwriting, I carefully copied every word that came out of his mouth, including the _(awkward silence)_ s and the _(coughs like he's going to die although he's already dead)_ s. It was the only time I ever saw Scorpius not take notes; he was too busy watching me and trying to convince himself that it was real.

 

Somehow we survived Binns and got through to the last hours. In Herbology, Rose mocked at our impatience while bedding a mandrake out—the universe did its job, and the thing almost deafened her when it accidentally fell to the floor. And no, I swear it wasn't my fault that she wasn't wearing her earmuffs correctly.

"Rose? Rose? Rose!" I called, grabbing both her shoulders and shaking. She hadn't endured even the first five minutes of the Mandrake Challenge.

"Don't," Professor Longbottom told me. He nested the ugly plant between his hands, as if it were an adorable baby and not a podgy salad-smelling root, and tenderly left it in its pot, taking his time to bury it in compost. "They are still babies, Mr Potter, they need some love."

"Tell Rose," I said. "Wait, you can't! That stupid plant made her pass out! My bad."

"I think your concept of 'love' and mine are pretty different, Albus." The teacher passed his arms under Rose's legs and back and lifted her from the dirty floor. She was taken outside, where Professor Neville left her on a bench. Foreseeing that I would personally make sure lovely baby mandrake didn't live long enough to see another dawn if he let me stay in the greenhouse, he allowed me to go outside and look after her.

Her ginger curls were dirty with soil and leaves, and it took some time to untangle the latter, knowing how much she hated her hair not being clean. It looked like the mandrake's parents had whacked her head with their leafy hands.

Cold made its way through my thick coat to my very core, freezing me inside out. While I shivered and failed to zip the anorak up, Rose woke, rubbing her temple. "What happened?"

"A lovely baby mandrake knocked you out for good," I informed her, sinking the chin and the hands inside the coat. "Welcome."

"I'm going to bake that thing in the oven," she roared.

"Professor Longbottom kills you. He said they need loooooove."

"Hell to the love. Little monster didn't love me when it banged my ears, did it?"

I held my hand up. "High-five, Rose. That's the attitude."

Uniform skirts should be optional. I personally don't have anything against them. They look nice on a girl, and that stuff, they really do; but I bet my cousin wasn't the only one whose legs were frozen like a turkey three days before Christmas Eve. Goosebumps took over her skin, which began looking like whiteish badlands.

Grass beneath our shoes cracked when we walked back to the greenhouse. None of us wanted anything to do with the evil vegetables, but we had to pick up Scorpius who, poor man, had been left alone with thirty mandrakes and twenty-seven wild teenagers who seemed to compete with the psycho plants in screaming. Barely noticeable inside with the earmuffs on, it hurt my ears badly now, without any plush protection.

"You still alive, Scor?" I shouted, still outside. Unless he had passed out as well and we had to drag him out, it wasn't in my plans to step in for, at least, a week.

"Moreless," a faint voice which vaguely resembled Scorpius' said. "Give me a sec."

"Sec given."

Well over a sec after, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy emerged from the depths of the greenhouse in a very bad state. Saying that his hair or his clothing, for that matter, were a mess would've been a generous thing to say; he looked like he had fought a hurricane and lost. "Sorry for the delay—it was the Third World War in there."

"What have you...?"

"I don't want to talk about it." With a shiver, he walked past us, his arms half buried in his pockets. "Let's say that it won't be easy to forget. Nor difficult. It will be _impossible_ to forget."

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," I said.

" _You_ try to bed those things out with three people pulling your arms and over ten pulling your earmuffs just because, you tell me. I'll spare you the killer Devil's Snare Squad."

"Deal."

Rose leaned on me all of a sudden. "Sorry, Al, but I feel a bit..."

"Don't worry," I told her. Somehow, her miserable state got through my armour of sarcasm and touched me, in a way. With 'in a way', I mean it moved me enough to give her a piggyback ride to her Transformations lesson, thus having to fly downstairs for Potions.

"...as long as you don't do that, you'll be fine," Professor Lidewij was saying. "Is Miss Potter alright, Mr Potter?"

I felt my cheeks heat up as the whole Slytherin second year turned to fix their eyes on me. "Yes," I muttered. "Just a bit of Mandrake Scream Headache."

"Poor thing," she lamented, "it happened to me once and it was the most horrible thing I've ever experienced. Those plants sure have lungs. Page fourty-seven—ask Mr Malfoy about the procedures if you have any doubts."

The stone chamber was under the Black Lake, and spectral lights were thrown upon our heads by medieval-looking torches. The slightly rectangular shape of the room seemed to stretch to the infinite as I walked to my second-row table, and I swear my steps were louder than any baby mandrake tantrum. I silently thanked Merlin when I finally reached my stool.

Scorpius pushed the caudron towards me, accidentally hitting my head. "Is Rose okay?"

"Yeah, and I am too, thanks." I angrily scowled at him.

"Hey, it's not my fault that you decided to nap on the table instead of preparing the _Trista Essentia_. Next time, watch where you snooze."

With a grunt, I lifted my hand from between my crossed arms and yawned. "Alright. So what do we have to do?"

"First, wake up. Second, get me three eyes of spider. And third, cheer up, because after we embottle sadness, we're off to Salazar's Pit!"

Needless to say, our Trista Essentia was the best one. By far.

 

"Have a nice trip, boys!" Mrs Lancaster wished us, waving as I threw the Flu Powder to the ashes beneath my feet. Hogwarts headmaster's chimney was big enough for both of us, but we had decided we'd travel individually—you know, to avoid transfiguration and such nasty stuff. After Scorpius was swallowed by the vivid green flames, I waited ten seconds before getting in and leaving the castle.

Flu Powder made me dizzy every time, so it wasn't any surprise that I tripped on my chimney's step and almost killed myself. My mother caught me in the air as if I were one of the Quaffles she trained my sister with, and I stared at the edge of our glass table, which was mere inches away from my head.

"Owe you a thousand, Mum," I said, regaining balance.

"My living room wouldn't have looked as good with your blood all over the furniture," she answered, turning her grip into a hug. "Sweet Merlin, you've grown!"

"Yeah. That's all it takes—a month away from home to turn a kid into a man," I said with my manliest voice.

Scorpius, whom I hadn't noticed before, chuckled at that. He was sitting on the black couch, his sportsbag on the floor by his feet. The contrast between the dark fabric and his general paleness was eye-catching, and I stared for a second, marvelled by how he managed to look like the most professionally carved statue by just remaining still, no matter how awkward the position in which he did.

"Are you ready?" she asked, snapping her fingers. Luggage came flying from the kitchen a moment after—a huge Chudley Cannons backpack and a blue suitcase. Scorpius and I nodded at the same time, like those literally big-headed toys of the Queen they sell at petrol stations. "Great. Next stop, Salazar's Pit," she announced.

 

Which was not quite true. The next stop was the underground that took us to the bus stop, and then the bus that took us to the train station, and then the train that took us to a small village called Henrietta in the middle of nowhere. When we got off the bus, suffocated thanks to the outrageous amount of people crowded inside, I asked Mum in a low voice, "why did we use public transport?"

"Do you expect us to fly here in a broom and land in the middle of Stirling, darling?"

Good point.

We had to queue as the security guard shouted about how our bags had better not contain explosives or firearms or anything liquid over three ounces, and I said to Scorpius, "Observation: Queuing is a form of oppression. Seriously."

"I'm wondering, won't the wands cause trouble with the metal detector? Magic is supposed to disturb all electronic and electric devices."

"Nice way to avoid debate," I complained.

"Albus," my mother warned me. "He asked an interesting question. Truth is, Scorpius, I've never stopped to consider that. But, just in case, give me your wands and I'll see."

"Alright." Scorpius handed his most valuable posession to a woman he had just met without a blink, and then turned to face me. "We were talking about queues being a form of opression, right?"

The guard gave us a weird look when our turn came, but I guess it's not every day that you hear two twelve-year-old boys discussing the morality of queues.

Rather than be searched by hand, I chose to walk through the metal detector completely magicless. Being without the comforting weight of my wand in my pocket or my hand felt weird. _I_ felt weird. Exposed. Vulnerable. At the same time, knowing that nothing would explode accidentally made me feel on top of the world. It felt like floating.

Scorpius walked through the metal detector with much less ceremony, and then Mum's turn came. "Five knuts that it beeps," he whispered to me.

My mother smiled to us nervously. "Make it ten," I answered, waving back.

Unlucky Scorpius lost ten knuts, because it didn't beep—it just let out a strangled buzz and then turned off, like a fire dying. Astonished, the guard started knocking the metal bars, but it wouldn't work. He looked up at my mother, who wore an innocent expression that would've fooled me, his son, hadn't I known what was going on.

"Ma'am, what...? Are you carryin' frequence inhibitors?"

"No, sir. At least, not last time I checked."

Baffled, the man scratched his shaved head. "Well, I'm sorry, Ma'am, but ain't gonna risk. Gotta search you by hand."

Arching both eyebrows, Mum nodded. When he reached her coat, he grimaced in a very odd way. "What are you...?

"Wands. My son's," she answered. "Father Christmas brought them last year and he doesn't go anywhere without them."

"What?" the guard asked.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh heavens," Scorpius laughed.

"Yeah, wands—you heard me. Ever since he was eight, he's been into magic. 'Magician', he says, 'I'll be a magician when I grow old'. Look, if you want, he can perform a little trick here and..."

"No, no," the guard cut her, shaking his head. He was probably thinking something pretty close to _Who is this crazy woman and why didn't I stay home today?_ "Show me the... wands, just that."

Without a word, Mum got my wand and hers out of her pocket. "My father-in-law carved them for him. See? Every detail is unique."

Uncomfortable and coughing to conceal it, the guard shook his head in disbelief. "Eh, alright. Next!"

Mum walked through the metal detector with a proud smile, handing me my wand. "Here you are, son," she audibly said. "What was that trick with the red ball again?"

After getting our bags back, we got to the platform, which was mostly empty. It wasn't nearly as beautiful as Platform Nine and Three Quarters; this one was dirty, the yellowish floor buried under a thick layer of already snotted handkerchiefs, already smoked fag-ends and already used tickets. With a disgusted glance at the greyish tiles, I left my backpack on one of the benches, which was dirty as well but not as much.

We remained silent for a while. "Seriously, Mum? A trick with a red ball?" I finally exploded, glaring at her. Scorpius, who had tried to keep his chuckle silent, burst into humiliatingly loud laughter.

"'I'll be a magician when I grow old'," he gasped, holding his belly. "Father Christmas brought the wand..."

"You're not helping," I barked at him.

"It's too much!" he managed before howling a guffaw again.

 

It turned out we had gotten to the platform half an hour before the next train arrived. "Mrs Potter, you are an impressively punctual person," Scorpius said as he sat down next to me after a short walk to stretch his legs.

"Well, thanks," she said, running her fingers through her auburn hair. "It helps that I'm not technically very busy right now."

"But you are pretty busy," I told her, although it occured to me that the League didn't properly start until mid-November. "I mean, didn't the Gaunt Gorgons play against the Cornwall Pixies tomorrow?"

"You work as a Quidditch commentarist, Mrs Potter?" Scorpius asked, leaning forward to look at her. My mother shook her head.

"No," she answered. "I'm sports editor for the _Prophet_. Close enough."

"Sounds great! Do you get to watch all the matches?"  That was all it took for my mother to fall in love with Scorpius. Put her to a Quidditch follower who knows his onions, and boom, friendship. I wasn't very keen on Quidditch—I only knew the basic rules and my mother's scheduled matches—so all I could do was count the used tickets on the floor while they discussed the Gaunt Gorgons' formations and how the Cornwall Pixies' substitute Seeker may be the key to winning against the Gorgons.

As the seats around us started to fill, Scorpius interrupted his speech on Leena Haliweather's skills with the broom to announce, "I'm going to the loo, and I think there's a dispenser nearby. Can I get you anything?"

"Uh-nuh," I said. "Thanks. I don't think dispensers serve scrambled eggs." I ran my fingers over the seat, which consisted of a thick metal layer with a polka-dot pattern of holes. Certain that there must be some nasty pink, strawberry-flavoured surprises under my bottom, I didn't dare touch any further.

"I don't either," he answered, "but I really appreciate your refusal to give in to breakfasty social conventions."

Mum tilted her head at me, confused. "Scorpius has developed an issue with the ghettoisation of scrambled eggs," I explained.

"It's embarrassing that we all just walk through life blindly acceptting that scrambled eggs are fundamentally associated with mornings," Scorpius justified himself. "I want to talk about this more, but I _really_ need to go to the loo. I'll be right back."

Mum stared at him as he departed on his epic quest for a public toilet. It wasn't a bad stare, the one you give someone who's annoying you but with whom you have to fake politeness for the sake of manners—it was the kind of stare you give something that's puzzling you.

"This boy is nothing like his father," she finally said.

"I hope that's good."

"Well, I wouldn't have brought twelve-year-old Draco Malfoy to a weekend trip."

 

When Scorpius didn't show up after a quarter of hour, five minutes before our train officially arrived, I asked Mum if she thought something was wrong. "What? No, honey. This place can turn into a maze—he probably just got lost or something. Look, there he is."

And just when the train's whistle started ringing in my ears, I saw Scorpius quickly walking towards us with a bag of potato crisps in one hand, his backpack hanging from the other.

"Where were you?" I asked, feeling more relieved than my voice hinted. If he was still alive and safe, I wouldn't have to choose one of the twelve ridicule excuses I had made up in my mind for the Malfoys in case their child had effectively gotten lost at a Muggle train station.

"Queue for the dispenser got superlong, sorry," he said, offering me the chips. I grabbed one and bit the top of it, looping my bag around my shoulder with the other hand. We walked side by side to the edge of the platform, and Mum grabbed us both by the shoulders and pulled us backwards as the train finally appeared in all its magnificence. 

Scorpius' sportsbag and backpack and my bag got in without any kind of problem, but Mom's suitcase was a different thing. It seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and she had to flick her wand discretely to make it float into the wagon after three failed attempts to lift it and a warning from the ticket collector.

"If you have time to blow the stupid whistle," she snapped at him, frowning, "then why don't you invest it in helping me get the case on board instead of producing that infernal sound?"

The ticket collector didn't dare blow it twice.

While the train started moving, we sat on opposite places near the doors, Scorpius facing Mom and me. Although it was going to be a long ride, we didn't bother put our things on the shelves—we just piled them on an empty seat. Scorpius searched for something in his sportsbag, and got a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans out.

"I can't believe you," I said, shaking my head. "You just bought crisps!"

"The best of both worlds," he answered. "Wait, I've seen a cherry one."

Scorpius took his time to fish the bean. I looked around, and marvelled at my situation once more; it wasn't just the whiteness of the plastic seats, or the horrible pattern covering the carpeted walls, nor was it the evergreen landscape blurring across the window as we travelled through the Scottish Highlands towards Salazar's Pit. No, it wasn't that. _  
_

It was the fact that, moreless a year ago, I had been diagnosed with depression and fought my own feelings every day. The fact that now I was starting to feel alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the long chapters, yay! :) Christmas is drawing very very veeery near now, so watch out for Santa Claus, because he might or might not drop by on the 24th-25th. As usual, leave your oppinions in the box below! I love hearing what you think, and apart from making my day, you guys point out tiny details and things that help me improve a heavy lot. Love ya all! xxx


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry belated Christmas! :)

Three hours in train and a quick ten-minutes walk was all it took to arrive in Salazar's Pit. Thanks to Mrs Lovegood, Dad's Old Friend Seamus Finnigan was waiting for us at the main square of the village, looking perfectly acceptable in his grey waistcoat. Although we were halfway through October, it was hot enough for Finnigan to have rolled up his white shirt's sleeves.

"Welcome," he said with a ceremonious voice, "to Salazar's Pit, boys."

"Seamus!" Mum greeted him, smiling. "It's been a long time. How are you?"

"Life has treated me well, Ginny—I can't complain. But oh, come here." Finnigan gave Mum a quick yet tight hug. "Who are these two young men?"

"You already know my son, Albus, and this is Scorpius Malfoy."

"Hello," Scorpius said, shaking his hand. "And thanks for taking care of our letters to Mrs Lovegood. It means a lot."

Finnigan smiled, narrowing his eyes because of the late afternoon light to look at him. "You're welcome, Scorpius."

"Hi," I chimed in, getting a handshake myself. I didn't know what else to say, so I decided to keep quiet and invested the awkward silence that followed in praying that a similar situation didn't happen when at Lovegood's.

"I'll show you the Pit's only but wonderful inn," Finnigan finally explained in his best touristic-guide voice, clearing his throat. "Your rooms have been booked and paid in advance, Mrs Lovegood's courtesy. The sun is setting already, so what's left of the day is yours to rest; we will meet tomorrow at Mrs Lovegood's home in the morning, at maybe ten o'clock for a cup of tea and so that you have enough time to talk with her comfortably. Afterwards, I can show you the village. Perhaps we can tour the local museum on Salazar Slytherin in the afternoon?"

"Sounds great," I nodded, pressing my lips into a tight smile.

"Ditto," Scorpius agreed.

Finnigan broke a sigh of relief. "Alright, then. Here, Ginny, let me help you with the suitcase."

 

 

Salazar's Pit was the kind of village you would expect to ace it at the _Scotland's Top 10 Charming Places_ charts. There are many villages out there with beautifully built cottages, and not so many but still some with sand paths instead of actual streets. Nature going wild isn't uncommon, either, and so aren't forests. No, what was unique about Salazar's Pit was its magic.

There was magic in the way the wind whispered into our ears, quietly and slowly. There was magic in the way leaves fell from their branches and waltzed around each other until they touched the floor, where some continued their dance. There was magic in the children that played hide and seek at the square with their parents, and in the parents that played hide and seek at the square with their children. There was magic in the mouth-watering smell that tickled our nostrils and tempted us into the bakery. There was magic in the people who waved at Finnigan. There was magic in the bricks and stones that made up the buildings, and there was magic in the ivy that hugged every house and store.

Salazar's Pit oozed a very special magic, one that couldn't be found anywhere else.

And, for that reason, I loved it from the first step.

The Glaucous Raven was just as charming. Being inside felt like being back at The Burrow, and the warm-hearted lady whose smile blossomed the moment she saw us was the fairy tale type—welcoming, affectionate and kind.

"Hello, Seamus!" she chirped, rubbing her pudgy hands against her polka-dotted apron before hugging Finnigan. Apparently, hugging Finnigan was the most common thing at Salazar's Pit. "How's Dean?"

"Very well, Mrs Walsh," Finnigan answered. "These are Ginny Potter, her son Albus and his friend Scorpius Malfoy. Luna booked two rooms for them two weeks ago ago, if my memory serves me right."

Index against her rosy lips, Mrs Walsh smiled at us. "It does, darling. One for the lady and one for the boys, yes? Pleased to meet you, Mrs Potter, I'm Calla Walsh. How are you two?" After shaking my mother's hand, she looked at Scorpius and me with a grandma grin.

"Pleased to met you, ma'am. You have a very nice inn," I said. A wave of pride hit me; my words were polite almost at a Scorpius level.

"Yes, it feels like being home. Scorpius Malfoy, my pleasure." The wave of pride retired just as quickly as it had come. I had forgotten that I was no match for Scorpius' pintoresque manners.

While Mrs Walsh looked for the keys in a basket and ocasionally chimed in Mum and Finnigan's chat about the good old days and that time they happened to meet at Parvati Patil's wedding, yes, the one at which her twin Padma wore the most horrible bridesmaid dress ever tailored!, I looked sideways at Scorpius. Busy admiring the flower pictures on the maroon walls, he didn't notice my stare until I spoke to him.

"Hey, you're doing great," I said.

"Doing great at what?" Looking away from the 'Bouquet des marguerittes' and to me, he blinked and tilted his head, a hugger-mugger spark bright in his eyes.

Opening my arm, I explained, "at this trip. If it were me, I would've died of discomfort long ago."

"Oh, that." Scorpius' mouth twisted into a little smile, barely noticeable but never less felt for that. "Don't tell anyone, but I _am_ dying of discomfort right now. Only, I mask it with politeness and rants on breakfast exclusivity."

That worried me. Was he really feeling bad? Maybe I had misunderstood his mood from the second we woke up, or maybe it was my misunderstanding what made him feel bad, or maybe he felt uncomfortable because he had to spend a whole weekend with a woman whom he didn't know and who was his friend's mother and he was afraid to do something wrong and mess up with her or ruin his own image before her eyes, which was stupid because Scorpius was a very good person and not even the dumbest person on Earth could fail to see that, or maybe all of those were my own fears and he was perfectly fine and kidding me.

"Silly," he laughed, "I was joking."

Alright. Those were my own fears and he was perfectly fine and kidding me.

Even though my heart screamed at me to kill him while it tried to make up for the skipped beat, I ignored its howls and intertwined a pinky with Scorpius'.

To be honest, I don't know why I did that.

It just felt right.

"Okay," I said. "But if you feel the very tiniest tad bad or out of place, you tell me, alright?"

Far from dropping my finger, he looked at me and slightly widened his smile. "Alright."

"Here they are!" Showing us two sets of rusty metal keys, Mrs Walsh grinned triumphantly. "Rooms six and seven. Boys, you got room seven. Yours is six, Mrs Potter."

I reached out for my grey keys and immediately gave them to Scorpius. "You keep them," I said. "I don't want us to spend the night here at the hall because I lost them."

"Darling, I have copies of every key."

"Trust me, ma'am, it's better this way. You don't want me to keep the keys," I assured Mrs Walsh.

She laughed, so I don't think she believed me, but really; _she didn't want me to keep the keys_.

 

Mom was shattered after a packed day, which had featured from the three-hour train ride to a stressful last-hour interview to the Holyhead Harpies' new Chaser, a spoiled brat who couldn't tell the Quaffle and the Bludger apart, so she kissed us both goodnight before entering her room to sleep ten healthy hours in a row. That left Scorpius and me alone and completely free at half past seven in the afternoon to do whatever we wanted to—and it didn't even cross our minds to stay at the inn.

"What about 'The Yobbo Yeti'?" I asked Scorpius, getting a hand out of the coat's pocket to point at a restaurant.

His eyes followed the direction my finger was pointing at. "What? You can't be serious." He read the sign hanging above the place's door. "Mother of Merlin. Who the wizards names their restaurant 'The Yobbo Yeti'?" With an incredulous puff, he rubbed his gloved hands.

After a quick flick of the wand to unpack the suitcases and give the massive wooden wardrobe some use, Scorpius and I had grabbed our coats and gone out for a walk. Rumbles from our stomachs made us change our plans the moment we stepped outside, though, so now we were looking for a restaurant to have dinner at. We could have simply returned to The Glaucous Raven, as Mrs Walsh served three meals a day to her guests including dinner, but where was the fun in that?

"Seriously," he said when we were enough steps far from the restaurant, "what are you thinking when you decide that 'The Yobbo Yeti' is a perfect name for your business?"

"I don't know," I answered, "maybe you're watching Animal Planet?"

Scorpius arched his eyebrows and stared at me, slowing down. "You amaze me, Albus Potter."

"Thanks. I amaze me too."

Half an hour later, we were sitting at The Yobbo Yeti and waiting for our spaghetti. In fact, _I_ was waiting for my spaghetti. Scorpius was waiting for his very refined white asparagus with a lavender infusion.

"How can you eat that?" I asked when the waiter served him the dish. Surely the cook as well or at least friends with them, he gave me a pissed look before stomping away. "You're like a rabbit, always on a veggie diet."

He shrugged. "Why is it bad? Veggies are friends."

"For Merlin's sake, Scorpius, we're on a kind of holiday. Spoil yourself and have something that's not green."

In that moment, the waiter came again and slid the bowl of spaghetti before me. To the present day, I still don't think he dropped the sauce into my glass of Coca-Cola accidentally.

"Sorry," he grunted, already leaving.

"Yeah, sure," I muttered, grabbing the fork.

Scorpius had waited for me to start eating, and during a few minutes, it was just us chewing and swallowing. The Yobbo Yeti wasn't empty, but it wasn't packed either, so there was the right level of background noise—enough to comfort me, but not as much as to be bothersome. Despite the long silence, I didn't feel awkward at any moment. That was the thing about Scorpius; it was hard to feel out of place with him.

"White asparagus, you are so unexpectedly magnificent," he finally said, leaning back in his chair. He was barely halfway through the dish, but he already looked satisfied. "You should try them, Albus."

"Ha." I swallowed down a mouthful of my food. "You wish. They sure can't compete with pasta."

"Really? How good are those spaghetti?"

"Let me think," I said. "How can I explain it to you? I want them to become a person so that I can marry them and be happy for the rest of my life with the mere but significative pleasure of their company."

"The asparagus are such a delight, you glimpse Heaven with the smallest bite."

"Too bad. With the spaghetti, you turn into a Heaven citizen."

"These asparagus would make you a vegetarian."

"These spaghetti will take you into a Wonderland of tastes and textures."

"These asparagus are the universe's way to reach perfection."

"Merlin, that was terrible!"

He exhibited a crooked smile. "Said the boy who just talked about 'a Wonderland of tastes and textures'."

"That was poetry."

He laughed. "Let's make a deal. You try the asparagus, I try whatever you have for dessert."

Despite the fact that the mere idea of eating anything classified as 'healthy' disgusted me, the mere idea of Scorpius having cake or an ice cream was enough to beat the nausea and make me have the finest slice of his asparagus. Surprisingly enough, they weren't so bad—there was a sweet aftertaste to them, and their softness allowed you to swallow without chewing. Even though I would _never_ admit it to Scorpius, they nearly tasted... _good._

"So?"

"So what?"

"So what do you think of the asparagus?"

"Considering they're rabbit food," I pointed out, "not as bad as I expected."

He rolled his eyes, amused nonetheless. "Come on, Albus, you loved them and you know it."

I ignored him and raised my hand to order a cheesecake. Luckily for me, it was a different waiter, one who didn't look like he might drop the dessert into my lap just because I was bugging him. "With two spoons."

"What? I was just trying some," Scorpius protested.

"Nuh-uh. We're sharing the cake, friend o' mine."

Even though he didn't stop complaining until the friendly waiter brought the dessert and retired our plates, I just crossed my arms and stubbornly shook my head.

"Shut up and grab that spoon," I told him. "You're going to live for once and share this cake with me, and if you say otherwise or try to resist, then I'll pretend that I'm sick tomorrow and won't meet Lovegood so that it's your fault and haunts you forever."

"Merlin, Albus," he said, grabbing his spoon. From his tone I could deduct that I had won. "You're unbelievable."

"Thanks."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"I know."

 

In the end, we settled with one quarter of the cake for him and the remaining three for me. It was the first time I saw Scorpius eat something sweet, and I made myself a mental note to tell Rose. Things like that happened scarcely, and such an incredible event needed to be celebrated.

After paying we went outside, where the night had fallen and the kids had gone to bed. We walked the main street down to the inn, never rushing, allowing ourselves to enjoy the quiet beauty of the situation. Scorpius wore an anorak, a scarf and the gloves, but still looked about to freeze. He would've fit in an expedition to the North Pole.

"I should write to my parents," he mumbled, looking at the stars. "Look, Orion is visible tonight."

"But we didn't bring the owls." At the thought ot Gwendelin, a boiling hate towards the hideous ugly bird warmed me up and chased away the night breeze's chill. "Which one's Orion?"

"That one." He put a hand on my shoulder and stopped in the middle of the small park we were crossing, pointing at three perfectly aligned stars. "See? That's Orion's Belt. If you put it together with the two stars to its left and the two to its right, you get Orion, the Hunter."

I only saw a bunch of stars positioned in a very random way, but I nodded anyway. "Why is it called the Hunter?"

"Greek mythology," he explained, lowering his arm and smiling. "Orion was an excellent hunter whose arrows never missed a target, good enough to go on hunting parties with the godess Artemis, known for hating men. One day, in the course of a hunt with Artemis and her mother Leto, he threatened to kill every beast on Earth in an attempt to impress the two immortals. Gaia, also known as Mother Earth and the creator of all immortals and creatures, objected to this, so she sent a small scorpion to kill the biggest hunter the world knew. Little Scorpion succeeded, and Orion died. Sad about his death, Leto and Artemis asked Zeus to place Orion among the constellations so that he could always watch over their hunts. Zeus consented, but added the Scorpion to the heavens as well. In this way, Orion's constellation is always running away from the scorpion who killed him, and that's why you will never see them together in the skies."

"Never?"

He nodded. "Scorpio's constellation is visible during the summer, mostly, whereas Orion appears in winter."

"I'll venture a guess and say that you were named after the Scorpio constellation."

"Ding ding ding, right answer. I'll show it to you as soon as it shows up."

We fell silent again after that, only ocassionally exchanging a few words such as "careful with the dog poop there" and "are you sure it doesn't belong to a yobbo yeti?". It took half an hour to make it to the hotel, but there was no need to rush, curfews were non-existent and we could stretch time as much as we wanted to. We _had_ half an hour to waste it walking and stargazing.

Mrs Walsh received us with a big smile. She had been knitting behind the counter when she spotted us frozen teenagers closing the heavy wooden door of her inn. "My boys! Did you have a good time?"

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded. "We dined at The Yobbo Yeti and then went for a walk. Do you know why is it named like that, by the way?"

She set the knitting needles and the pull?, sock?, scarf?, aside. "Because the owner let his three-year-old son choose the name. Are you still hungry? Do you want a lime blossom tea before going to bed? It's good for relaxing and getting to sleep."

"No, thanks." I looked for the keys inside my pockets. When they didn't appear, I freaked out. "Scorpius, do you know where the—"

"Here," he interrupted me, opening his hand. There they were, shinging under the chandeliers.

"See?" I told Mrs Walsh. "That's why I don't keep the keys."

"I would appreciate the lime blossom tea very much, thank you," Scorpius told the lady with his brightest smile.

It seemed to do its trick. Charmed, the woman got up. "Wait here." She disappeared through a "STAFF ONLY" door, slightly limping.

Careful not to ruin it, I examined what she was working on. Unless they were for a yobbo yeti, it wasn't socks.

A second after, she came back with a mug between her hands and gave it to Scorpius, who nodded.

"Thanks. Do you mind if I take it to my room and bring you the mug tomorrow?"

"Absolutely not, darling. Sleep well!"

With an affectionate look, she grabbed her knitting needles again. Guess I would have to wait until the next day to find out whether she was trying to protect a yeti's feet from the winter cold or not.

 

Our room wasn't very big, but it was nice nonetheless. Rustic furniture such as the wooden wardrobe or a big trunk next to the king-sized bed harmonized perfectly with the red carpet and the painted paper on the walls, and when we switched on the lamps on the bedside tables, they bathed everything in a warm light. It was the kind of room that seemed to welcome you back every time you entered.

While I looked for my pyjamas and consequently messed up all the clothes, Scorpius sat on the bed and quietly sipped the tea every now and then. I found his pyjamas before mine, and threw it over my shoulder. "Hey! Careful," he said. "The sleeve just slapped me like an angry mother."

"Watch out, because there go the pants," I informed him as I threw them too. He mumbled something which I couldn't quite catch—I only understood 'manners' and 'goats'.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," he told after finishing with the goat thing. "Five minutes." Holding his pyjamas, he walked into the small bathroom and carefully closed the door. The water started running while I undressed and changed into my warm flannel jammies.

Scorpius was the fastest person at showering I had ever met: it hadn't been five minutes when he opened the door, water dripping from the tips of combed hair, ready to go to sleep. Even though I had seen him like that nightly for a whole year, the fact that we weren't at Hogwarts made it feel new somehow. It was as if I hadn't spent ten months of my life sleeping in the bed next to his. Stupid thoughts, like 'maybe I snore' or 'maybe my feet smell', popped up in my mind.

Real life was different from the castle. A Hogwarts friendship, built on sharing classes and a house, might not resist the outer world—I really didn't want it to be our case.

While I slid under the white covers and curled up into a human ball, he sat on the edge of the bed and finished his tea. Always the responsible one, he said, "our first day here, Albus, and the room already looks like a hurricane has passed?"

Lazy as hell, I reached out for my wand and shook it, Wingardium Leviosa-ing the clothes spread on the floor inside the wardrobe. With another flick, the backpack I had carried during our walk and the shoes flew into the trunk, and the third and last one hung the coat from the hook rail behind the door. "You said something?"

" _Pas du tout,_ " he answered, peering through the window. He set the mug on his bedside table and got into bed, which even though was mine as well, was big enough to feel we weren't sharing it. Switching his lamp off, he pulled the covers up to his nose and shivered. Maybe he was smart, but Scorpius would never be able to be an Eskimo. Too cold-blooded.

"What was that?" I put the light off as well and turned to look at him, rubbing my terribly cold feet against each other.

"French. It means 'nothing', moreless." The sheets rustled, and then I could distinguish his grey eyes in the dark, looking at me. They were scarily similar to Gwendelin's before pecking my hands to death. "Albus, thank you so much for this. You can't imagine what it means to me. I don't think I'll ever be able to pay this debt."

Those words seemed to weigh in my chest, but not in a bad way. I had the feeling he wasn't talking only about the trip.

"Scorpius, you don't have to thank me for anything," I assured him. "It's me who should. You are my friend, even if I'm silly and behave like a child sometimes... Okay, all the time," I corrected myself. "There aren't enough Salazar's Pits in the world to compensate that."

He didn't say anything for a long while. Finally, when I was almost convinced he was asleep, he said, "anyway, thank you. You're awesome."

I smiled.

"I know. And now sleep, dear Scorpius—tomorrow is The Day."

"Right," he said, and I could sense excitement tickling sleep off him, but also off me. "We're meeting Luna Lovegood! I can't believe this is real."

"Do you want me to punch you?" I offered.

"No, thanks, I'll be okay with a little pinch."

I reached out for him and looked for his hand in the dark, pinching its back and causing him to scrabble under the sheets. "Enough?"

"Enough," he confirmed. "Good night, Albus."

There was a smile on his face despite the pinch, I could feel it in his voice, and that made me smile back. "Good night, Scorpius."


	14. Chapter 14

The day of our scheduled Lovegood-ish epiphany, I woke up choking. Remember that Scorpius and I were sharing a king-sized bed as wide as the Amazon Jungle? Well, it turned out not to be enough for two. Scorpius' head rested atop his arm instead of on the pillow, and I would have been perfectly fine with that hadn't the same arm been spread across my chest and throat. Breathing had turned into a luxury item I was too poor to get.

"Scorpius, you're choking me!" I panted, trying to wriggle out of his grip. Asleep as deeply as if he were dead, he didn't even move. "Scorpius! SCORPIUS!"

My cries grew hoarse as I used the little air I could gather to try to wake him up, and after a few Neanderthal howls, I stopped being so soft and pushed him to the floor. Thank Merlin, he was lighter than his sleep, and he ended up scrawling on the carpet and very awake in no time.

"Ow," he complained, rubbing the back of his head. With his pout and his red pyjamas, he looked like a rebel toddler refusing to go to bed—or, in this case, refusing to get out of it. "Hey, why did you do that?"

"No heys! I was the one dying."I patted my chest. The sudden overload of oxygen had my lungs going crazy. "You should come with a warning, like toys. 'Choking hazard: The Scorpius Malfoy you're about to share a room with comes with a high probability of you dying because he decided to rest his very heavy head against your airways'."

Despite having just hit the floor hard because of me, he laughed at that. "Right now I don't feel like choking you to death again, Albus, but don't tempt me. Luck is a moody damsel."

Unimpressed by his early-in-the-morning poetry, I threw a pillow at him. "Yeah, whatever. Cut the drama and dress up."

While I put on a blue plaid shirt and baggy jeans as a tribute to Charlie, a reference I was certain Lovegood would catch, Scorpius decided to combine the whitest shirt on Earth with a light blue hoodie and black trousers. Far from a blunder, the outfit looked posh on Scorpius—add that to the long list of his gifts and talents.

" _Keller, greatness awaits_ ," he said when I exited the bathroom. Quotes that can make my day, part one.

Bumping my fist against his, I cleared my throat. " _But oh, Waters, what does 'greatness' mean when I am already grand?_ "

" _It means a quest that shall make you twice as grand_ ," he said, " _and a chance that will require braveness to turn you into the biggest hero of all times. But, first of all, it means a good jar while watching the Champions._ Albus, you look great in that Charlie-ish outfit. Let's do this."

I opened our room's door. "Let's."

 

After having slept for almost half a day, Mum was refreshed and ready for whatever the day threw at her. Two massive hugs came out of nowhere and squeezed us before we even properly entered the dining room. "Boys! Did you sleep well?"

"Rumour has it Scorpius and you are trying to choke me," I grunted. "Let go, Mum, I can't breathe!"

She ruffled my hair before setting me free. "Grumpy. Scorpius, how are you? Did my cranky son let you rest?"

"What? Hey!" I protested, outraged. _Scorpius_ had been the one to almost kill me!

"I'm feeling great, ma'am, thanks," he answered, pulling a chair back and sitting at the table on which my mother's coffee was slowly getting cold. "And yes, he did. I have slept like a baby tonight."

My mother and I sat as well, and she handed us the handwritten breakfast menu. Saturdays came with a variety of choices: croissant, porridge or toasts with butter and jam, all of which may be combined with milk, three types of coffee or an orange juice. Scorpius should stand up and kiss Mrs Walsh, because you could also have fruit. His rabbit diet wouldn't be altered by something as mundane as breakfast.

"Good morning, boys!" Speaking of the devil... Mrs Walsh herself approached our table with her wobbly steps. A pair of glasses swung dangerously from her neck, menacing to break free and fly away any moment. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yep," I nodded, running a hand through my hair. "Can I have toasts and milk, please?"

"Of course, darling," she nodded, getting a small notepad out of her apron's pocket and scribbling something on it with a black pen. "Which jam?"

"Peach, if possible."

"Everything is possible at The Glaucous Raven, specially when it comes to food. And you, young man?" Lowering the notepad, she glanced at Scorpius, who handed her the menu.

"Do you have apples? Great. I'll have an apple and a glass of orange juice, then."

Mrs Walsh frowned as she took note of the command. "Just an apple? Are you sure?"

Scorpius seemed to shrink in his seat somehow. "Um, yeah. I'm not a breakfast person, to be honest."

Weird enough, Mum, the biggest breakfast's advocate of the world, didn't say anything. She just sipped her coffee mug and looked through the windows, which let us see the enormous forest that shielded the village as if using the testudo formation.

Mrs Walsh shrugged. "Okay. Back in a minute, boys!" She checked our commands to make sure she had gotten them all right and then left, humming one of those traditional songs about a princess, a dragon and the loser prince who had to rescue the first and kill the second, when all he wanted to do was returning to his castle and letting someone else take care of the princess.

"Today is your big day," Mum announced, leaning forward and smiling. "How does it feel?"

"Like an anthill inside my stomach," I answered.

"Like winning the lottery," said Scorpius. "But a hundred times better."

My mother smiled and then stared at me. To be precise, she stared at the painting right behind me. "I just don't get that picture," she said, holding a black scrunchy between her teeth while she combed her hair with her fingers to pull it into a ponytail. "I mean, I know the theory, but I still don't understand it. It _is_ a pipe." She tied her hair with the scrunchy and then gave it a few pulls to make sure the ponytail wasn't too loose.

When I turned to see what was she talking about, an acceptable imitation of Magritte's _Ceci n'est pas une pipe_ welcomed me. The Lost Crown seemed to be everywhere today. "No, it's not," I said. "It's a _drawing_ of a pipe. Get it? All representations of a thing are inherently abstract. He was a whizz."

"How did you get so grown up that you understand things that puzzle your ancient mother?" Mum wondered. "It seems like just yesterday I was telling seven-year-old Albus why the sky was blue. You thought I was a genious back then."

"And why _is_ the sky blue?" I asked.

"Just because," she answered. The stunning wisdom of her answer made me laugh. "Scorpius, are you feeling alright?"

My friend raised his gaze from the zipper of his hoodie and smiled weakly. There were tiny drops of blood in his hands, which nonetheless stood out like the blackest sheep in the whitest herd. When I looked down, I discovered that he had been scratching the sides of his thumb's nail. "Yes, ma'am. I'm just a bit... Sleepy."

"I swear it's not my fault," I instantly said, hands up.

"If you feel the need to justify yourself, Albus..." she began, leaving the sentence hanging. She didn't need to finish: _then think it may be because you know that's not true._ Mythical sentence that had haunted my child self for years. Because when I explained that I hadn't broken this mirror or that pot of flowers, was it less true if I said it immediately? Did it become more solid if I let five minutes pass? And ten? And what if I hid the pieces of whichever ugly wedding present James had shattered and waited for the next day?

"No, he didn't do anything," Scorpius intervened, earning a grateful smile. "It's just that I could use a nap. Nothing too serious." He rubbed the blood off his fingers with a napkin.

Before I could think of any joke which related naps to a yobbo yeti, Mrs Walsh turned up and slid a mouth-watering plate of toasts in front of me, a celestial image enhanced further by the arrival of the glass of milk. She set Scorpius' juice and the biggest red apple ever besides my breakfast. "If you're hungry and want something else, tell me," she said to him before leaving again. "Mrs Potter, if you've finished the coffee, I'll retire the mug."

"Thank you, Calla. Eat, you two—it's half past nine, and Seamus will be waiting for us at the square."

That was the only thing I needed to hear to turn into a toast-devouring machine.

 

Luna Lovegood's rustic stone house was lay at the bottom of a hollow where regular flowers like lilies or marguerites had been exiled by wild magic plants like dittany bushes or dragonbreaths. Ten minutes away from the square in which Finnigan had received us, which equalled twenty minutes at a rather fast pace from the inn, the beautiful cottage was located on the outskirts of the village, near a stream. My breath caught as the fact that I was looking at _Luna Lovegood's house_ sank in; _it was Luna Lovegood's house._

_Luna. Lovegood's. House._

I was one closed door away from my dreams.

Mum and Finnigan looked fine, as if they were going to the grocery instead of to a genious' home, but when I glanced at Scorpius, I saw that he was even paler than usual, all blood gone from his face. Instead of cells, he was made of paper.

"Here we are," I whispered to him. "After a year."

"After a year," he repeated, nodding. "Albus, have I thanked you already?"

"Yeah."

"Tthank you a thousand times for this incredible opportunity, then."

"I said you have already thanked me."

"I know."

We fell silent for a fraction of milisecond, enough for us to hear the distant rumble of a ballad. It reminded me of Grandpa Arthur's annual marathons of traditional Irish music."What's that?" I asked.

"I think it's called music."

"Very funny."

"I know."

"Scorpius, I'm nervous at a Charlie-about-to-talk-to-the-Mae-queen level."

"Glad to know I'm not the only one."

Rubbing my sweaty palms against my trousers, I looked around at the fairytale forest that surrounded Lovegood's house while Finnigan knocked on the door before opening it and disappearing inside the cottage. Mum approached and put her hands on my shoulders.

"Don't be nervous," she told us. "She's a very nice person. Have you brought your books?"

"Yes," Scorpius answered immediately. They both looked at me, waiting for my answer, but I was drifting away and almost gone because the answer to such an obvious and stupid yet key question was _No,_ I hadn't brought my book, because I was the kind of idiot who forgot it at the inn and didn't even notice until it was too late.

"No," I muttered. It came out as a horrible caw, so I coughed and tried again, "no."

"What? But I thought you wanted her to sign it," Mum said.

"Yes."

"Don't get too alarmed, but I think he's about to have a panic attack," Scorpius announced, grabbing my hand and looking into my eyes. "Albus, breathe. It's just a book, and she has paper and pens at home, and it doesn't even matter because anyone can get a signed copy, but you're lucky enough to talk to her. Look at me and breathe."

I tried to follow his instructions, but breathing hurt and it felt like someone was stabbing me every time I tried to inhale and my stomach was doing these weird and painful things and I hadn't brought the book and someone had detonated a bomb inside my head.

"Albus, I'll tell her to dedicate my book to you if it helps but breathe, please, because you're beginning to look paler than I do and that's definitely not normal."

While Scorpius tried to save me from the termites that insistently devoured my insides, Mum hugged my head and kissed my temple a million times. "Albus, don't worry. I'm returning to the inn to get your book, and I'll be back with it before you can even notice that I'm gone, okay? Don't worry, sweetheart."

"I'll take care of him, Mrs Potter," Scorpius said. "Don't worry. Albus, in and out. I know that it hurts, but you have to calm down, okay? If you do, the pain will get easier to handle."

"Be right back," Mum said before departing. She said something else, but I didn't quite catch it.

Scorpius made me sit on the emerald grass, and after searching through his backpack, he handed me a pencil. I was panicking, but there was still enough Rational Albus left to stare at the pencil and then at Scorpius. "Here. Squeeze, it helps. You're having a panic attack, and that's fine. Doesn't matter. You are strong and will overcome it, and then we will have the time of our lives in there with our favourite author, and your mother will bring you the book, and everything will work out as we imagined it would. You're going to be okay."

Ages slowly slipped by as I followed his advice, trying to focus on the pencil and only the pencil. Little by little, my hand stopped shaking, and then my whole body, and the horrible sensation of freezing that had fallen upon me melted away. All the time, Scorpius didn't stop talking to me. I listened. I let his smooth voice calm me down. I let every word be like a little soldier who fought the Panic Legion, and even though it wasn't a quick and easy victory, his army won the battle.

Neither Finnigan nor Lovegood went out to invite us in until it was over; only later did it occur to me they were giving me some space.

"Okay," I said after a while. "I think I'm okay now. I don't even know why that happened, I mean, I was fine and then a book just..." Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. "Sorry that you had to witness that."

"Don't apologize," he demanded. "Anxiety and panick attacks are completely normal, and not something you should be sorry for. What matters is that you're okay."

Wondering what had I done in previous lives to deserve Scorpius' friendship, I accepted his hand and stood up, patting grass wisps off my pants. I then handed him his pencil. "Alright. I can do this." 

He took it and slid it into his pocket. "Of course you can, Albus. Let's give that lovely lion's-head door knocker some use."

 

"It is very nice to meet you at last," Luna Lovegood told us. I stopped examining the photographs with her children she had to look at her and remind myself that yes, this _was_ happening.

After beating the knocker badly to make it audible above the Irish ballad, Finnigan had opened the door and guided us into a small yet beautiful living-room. An enormous window took up the whole south wall, making it look like Lovegood's chimney was in the middle of the forest and not inside a house. Green tones ruled the room wisely, and let themselves be enhanced by wooden furniture and all the natural light provided by the window. Atop a coffee table rested a curious clock which tick-tacked from left to right instead of from right to left and at least ten framed pictures—I was inspecting one of those when she entered the room.

"Good morning, Mrs Lovegood," I stuttered. "Our pleasure. I'm Scorpius Potter and he's Albus Malfoy, I mean, I'm Potter Malfoy and..." Closing my eyes, I breathed in and out.  _Come on, Albus, you can do this._ "My name is Albus Potter, and this is my friend Scorpius Malfoy."

"Please, call me Luna," she said, offering me a silky hand which I immediately shook. "You have grown a lot since I last saw you, Albus. You were three years old, and ended up in St. Mungo's because you fell from my house's tree and broke a knee."

Nice.

As I didn't know how to answer to such a statement, I stared at my feet and fixed my eyes in the dark wood of the floor. Instead of letting an awkward silence take hold of the conversation and ruin it already, Lovegood..., erm, Luna hummed two notes and focused on Scorpius.

"So you are Scorpius Malfoy? Welcome to my house. It is great to meet you at last," she told him, who looked calm but was actually more nervous than a banshee at The X Factor, something I could tell by the way he chewed on his inner cheeks.

"Delighted to meet you, Mrs..., uh, Luna," Scorpius answered, shaking her hand. 

"Oh, but do not be shy!" she told us. She mimicked towards a white settee in the middle of the room, right in front of the chair she pulled apart from the dining table and sat on. "My furniture will not eat you, I promise. I have taught them to behave with visits."

Looking at each other in bewilderment, Scorpius and I sat on the squishy couch, on which we bounced slightly. Finnigan entered the room holding a steaming teapot and three enamelled cups dangerously hanging from his index, which he set on the table between Luna and us to serve tea.

"So?" Luna asked after sipping her cup, with a cute smile. Her teeth were whiter than Scorpius' shirt. "Do you have any questions for me?" I suddenly realized what was what sounded strange in her speech to me—she talked the same way she wrote, as correctly as a Cambridge grammar dictionary.

Scorpius invited me with a nod to answer first. To make it extra compulsory, he took the tea cup to his lips, which were curved in a smile. Nasty traitor. I didn't know whether I wanted to thank him for the opportunity or kill him for leaving me alone to face such a challenge.

"Well... I actually do," I stuttered. "For example, what happens to Hazel and Augustus in the end? We learn in the last book that Hazel is very sick, and Augustus is struggling with a disease just as strong but nevertheless looks for a cure to save her. After the battle against Davio, though, in the epilogue, nothing is said about them. Do they get through?"

Frowning, Luna patted her chin with a long finger. "Augustus and Hazel? Let me see. Augustus is very sick, so he dies the month after they marry in D'Vaarh. Hazel is a strong girl and fights, but when Augustus passes away, she falls into a horrible depression and dies, too."

"What?" I bellowed. Luna, Finnigan and Scorpius looked at me, surprised. Shame quickly dyed my cheeks red. "Sorry, I didn't want to shout. But... After all they have gotten through, they die? It's just... Unbelievable. They deserved some happiness."

Luna simply shrugged, and sipped her tea again. Having just killed two of her major characters, she looked very calm and at peace. "Next question."

"Alright, here I go," Scorpius said. "What about Belena? Does she become Rowena's Soul Guardian? And does she enter the Circle? After passing her first trials in _The Echoes Of the Ebony Empire,_ the subject is never brought up again."

"Oh, Belena! I like her so much," Luna happily said. "She does become a Soul Guardian, but Rowena's crown is destructed during the battle against Davio, so the spirit of the person she vowed to protect does not exist anymore. In that way, there is no soul left for her to protect, so her Spirit seals after a short time. By the way, she is not accepted in the Circle."

What kind of person says that they like their character to, immediately after, ruin their lives to such a point?

"Charlie." Being the main character, he had gotten a happy ending, right? "He kissed Nina at the end of _Ruins Of a Kingdom,_ so I guess they get together. What happens to him afterwards?"

Luna arched her eyebrows. "They do kiss, but they are not a good couple. They argue too frequently, and Nina wants to continue with her Muggle life whereas Charlie has been crowned King of Shadows and is not able to go back to his old life, so they break up shortly after. I do not know what happens to them from that."

"O-okay, then," I said, trying to order my thoughts and, what was more important, to control myself not to kill her right there for making my favourite characters miserable and sinking my most cherished ship. "And, uh, are you writing anything new?"

"Apart from reports on the Kalernorls?" She shook her head. "I had a mildly good idea barely two years ago, but I do not have the time to write and develop a proper novel with a decent plot and one of those happy endings everyone seems to like so much. I am very sorry, but I do not think I will be publishing anything new- Not yet, at least. Which reminds me... Seamus, would you mind bringing them?"

Luna braided her blonde hair while Finnigan exited the room to get _something_. "I still don't get this," he told Luna when he came back, handing her a bunch of papers. I got a closer look at them.

Grocery lists.

"There you go," Luna said. Smiling like the Cheshire Cat, she looked perfectly rational and calm, so I couldn't tell whether she was being serious or she was kidding us for our letters' sake. My fan ego wanted to believe she was being serious, even though I knew the chances of her kidding us for our letters' sake were high.

"Why are they all getting depressing endings?" I asked her without touching the neatly folded papers. I wasn't on the mood for jokes and grocery lists. "Hazel dies, Gus dies, Belena doesn't become neither a Guardian nor a member of the Circle, Nina and Charlie break up... It's horrible."

"Real life, Albus, is not a fairy tale. Dragons roast the hero and devour the princess, frogs remain frogs, pumpkins do not turn into a carriage and peasants are not crowned by a generous king as a reward for their generosity or wits. People die, and happily ever afters are much scarcer than our childhood stories made us think. Maybe Augustus and Hazel's ending is not fair, maybe Belena deserved a job, maybe Charlie and Nina loved each other enough to overcome all those difficulties, but life is not fair, and it would make zero sense to try to pretend it works otherwise."

"O...okay," I said. "Right."

I honestly didn't know how to answer to all that wisdom.

"Mrs... Luna, we wanted to thank you for booking the inn. It's a lovely place," Scorpius intervened with his most polite smile.

"Oh, that. You are more than welcome." She played with her teaspoon absent-mindedly, spinning it between her fingers. "After all, you are the first readers who have gotten this involved with my books. I could not do less."

"The first ones? But I know a lot of people who has read them." I wasn't just 'puzzled' anymore; Luna Lovegood was turning my world upside down.

"Yes, but no one had ever come to Salazar's Pit to visit me. You two are pioneers in this visiting-me business." She looked away from us, peering throw the window. "Scorpius, how is it going?"

It slighlty irritated me. Why was she asking Scorpius specifically? I existed too, thank you very much. Instead of excited because his favourite author seemed to care about his existence, Scorpius looked... bad. Pursed lips, crouched posture. Everything in him screamed 'I'm unconfortable right now, and I don't want to answer that question'.

"I'm fine, thanks." Was it me, or was his tone a bit harsh? He had gone from his charming self to being on the defensive real quick. "In _The Long Lost Hope_ , when Varia summons Hector's spirit—"

"Really? It makes me glad to know that. And Albus, how is he going?"

Everything about that question felt wrong. Why had she interrupted Scorpius to say that? Why was she asking _about_ me, but not _to_ me? Why did she rivet Scorpius with his eyes, as if she were waiting for him to do something? What was going on? It was like going to a movie not knowing the plot while everyone did; I felt very, very lost.

"Albus is fine too," Scorpius retorted, without the 'thanks' this time. "As I was saying, when Varia summons Hector's spirit, he tells her that—"

"So you have decided to go down the surprise path."

The room fell dead silent. Finnigan, who had been standing at the door reading a book, opened his eyes in shock and looked at Luna the way you would look at a crackpot. No one spoke for the longest second of all history, and Scorpius, looking as if he had been punched, opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air, apparently unable to decide what to say.

"Mrs Lovegood, I'm trying to ask you a question," he finally said. "After having travelled here, the very least I expect is to be allowed to talk without you constantly interrupting me and trying to drive me round the bend."

"And I, Mr Malfoy, am trying to ask you a question too," she fired back. "After having dealt with your letters personally for a year and bothered to arrange all the events that have lead us here, the very least I expect is to be allowed to say what I consider pertinent without you lecturing me."

"Look, I won't even bother answering to that." Scorpius left his cup on the table. Everything in him screamed 'DANGER!', from his fierce frown to the curve of his lips. My friend looked like a lion about to reduce a gazel to shreds, and Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw idol, apparently didn't know better than crossing him even further. "I will go down whichever path I consider appropiate, Mrs Lovegood, and won't allow a stranger who doesn't know a Merlinforsaken thing about me or my life, but thinks she does because she has read a bunch of letters, to teach me morals on that."

Finnigan stepped towards us, entering the metaphorical space in which this completely surrealistic conversation was taking place, and put a hand on Luna's shoulder. He looked scared, as if he didn't know her anymore. I related to that on a spiritual level. Whatever was going on escaped from my understanding, and all I could do was watch while two forces of nature collided. Our dream visit had turned into a nightmare.

"Scorpius Malfoy, do you know King Midas' story?" Lovegood asked suddenly. The question was so unexpected that Scorpius wasn't able to come up with any outburst.

"It rings a bell," he carefully said.

"Well, it is about a Greek king who finds the satyr Silenus completely drunk in his rose garden, and treats him hospitably and entertains him for ten days and nights because Silenus delights him with stories and songs and might prove himself useful. On the eleventh day, Midas turns Silenus in to the god of wine, Dionysus, who in reward offers him a gift of his own. Egoistic, arrogant and stupid, Midas asks that whatever he touches changes into gold. His new power fascinates him at first; he touches a twig and a stone and both turn to gold. Overjoyed, as soon as he gets home he orders the servants to set a feast on the table; but when he holds his food it grows rigid, and his drink hardens into golden ice every time he wants to alleviate his thirst. When his worried daughter tries to touch him, she is turned into a shiny statue as well. Once proud, now Midas hates the gift he has coveted. I will spare you the rest of the story, but Midas ends up as a wroker for the god of the fields and satyrs, Pan, away from his family, his fortune and everything he loved."

Scorpius stayed silent, clenching his fists. The anger he oozed was beginning to severely scare me. Where was Mum? What was taking her so long? Why wasn't she here to calm the waters?

"What are you trying to say, Lovegood?" he hissed.

"I do not think you are stupid, Mr Malfoy."

"Luna!" Finnigan said, surprised. "Enough already. What's going on? This is not you!"

"How did you manage to make me think you were a decent person? I regret ever touching a book of yours," Scorpius spitted.

I wanted everyone to shut up and sit down and chill out and tell me what was going on, because Scorpius had been dying to come and Luna had, at least apparently, been willing to receive us, but now they were looking at each other like they were sworn enemies—or, at least, Scorpius was, because Luna's narrowed eyes were more inquisitive than hateful. While he looked ready to set the cottage on fire, she seemed to be looking for something.

"You know, Mr Malfoy," she slowly said, "people lie and hide secrets. They are not always who you think they are."

"LUNA!" Finnigan cried, seizing her arm.

For an unknown reason, that seemed to be the last straw for Scorpius. Standing up suddenly, he got a paper out of his pocket and tore it in two, then in four, then in dozens of tiny pieces he threw into the air which fell like snowflakes on the carpet. After that, he got his book out of his backpack and gave it to me harshly, almost smashing it into my face. "Here you are, Albus—tell her to dedicate it to you, because I don't want it anymore. I don't want to have anything to do with this woman never again in my life."

"Scorpius, I—"

"You were so much better on the paper," he finally told her before leaving. He stomped along the corridor to the front door, which he slammed shut.

With Scorpius gone, everything suddenly looked sad and pointless. A supposedly mature woman had just treated a twelve-year-old child in a horrible way, a child that was my best friend, and I hadn't intervened to stop her. If to me, who didn't know what they were talking about, her words had sounded hurtful, I couldn't imagine what they had been like for Scorpius. To think that I had worshipped this person until the last five minutes made my heart ache. It didn't matter how good she was at writing—I couldn't like someone who had hurt Scorpius so bad on purpose. 

"I'm leaving," I announced, standing up. I grabbed Scorpius' copy of _The Long Lost Hope_ just in case he wanted it back later, even if it was only to set it on fire. "Mr Finnigan, thanks for all you've done for us. Goodbye."

I didn't look at Luna in the eye. I didn't even look at her face. She didn't deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho ho ho, merry belated Christmas! Santa finally dropped by and left a double chapter under the tree for you guys~ Hope you liked them!


	15. Chapter 15

Scorpius was sitting under an oak besides the sand path we had followed to arrive at this nightmare, knees against his chest and eyes staring nowhere. It was going to rain, and none of us had brought an umbrella, but I was certain he agreed that we'd rather catch a deadly flu than wait inside Lovegood's house for my mother. For the moment we were stuck at the end of Salazar's Pit, but it didn't mean we had to be stuck with who inhabited the end of Salazar's Pit.  
  


"Hey," I said, sitting cross-legged besides him. The grass was wet and it gave me the chills. "Hey. It's okay. She sucks."

He nodded, but didn't look away from nowhere. Maybe he was staring at the universe's most valuable secrets and I wasn't noticing, but to me, it seemed more like he was trying not to cry. I put a hand on his shoulder, and didn't say anything else. Sometimes words reach the places actions can't even dream of touching, but sometimes it happens the exact opposite.

"Albus," he finally murmured with the huskiest voice I had ever heard. "Sorry that I ruined your trip." After the most stupid thing I had ever heard came the longest sniff I had ever heard.

"What? No! Scorpius, it was Lovegood who ruined it by sucking and being a jerk. You haven't ruined anything. Don't be silly."

"But I messed up!" he exclaimed, finally looking away from the universe's most valuable secrets to look at me. His eyes were teary, and I suddenly was very afraid that he'd crumble and start crying, because he was the mature and responsible one, and if he crumbled then I wouldn't know what to do or expect. "She was talking about me all along, and if I hadn't been there, or hadn't answered, the visit wouldn't have gone the way it has. It was your dreamt visit to your favourite author, and I ruined it. You don't know how sorry I am, Albus. If I could turn back time and, I don't know, break a leg to avoid coming, I would."

Silence followed. Not because I didn't have anything to say nor because I agreed, but because I couldn't believe he really meant what he said. Maybe he had a fever and was delirious.

"Look, I'll pretend I didn't hear that. How can you be so... So...?" I couldn't find the words to express how stupid Scorpius was being by blaming himself for another person's attitude. "How can you have such a low opinion of yourself, enough to say that her behaviour is your fault? Scorpius, if she's not able to be a decent person with two kids, it's because she isn't a decent person. Not because you were there, not because Venus is in the wrong house today, not because someone across the Atlantic sneezed too loud. Because she isn't a decent person. Don't make yours other people's problems."

The dark clouds above us must have felt really moved by my words, because they started crying us a river. I immediately started looking for my wand, but by the time I found it and casted a Parapluvia, we were already soaked. 

Scorpius rubbed his eyes, which were red, and looked at me. "Really?"

"Really, what?"

"Do you really think it wasn't my fault? It really doesn't matter?"

I rolled my eyes and mentally cursed Lovegood a few times. A thin trail of black smoke started coming out of a window, so I guess I actually cursed her. "No, it doesn't matter," I assured him. "And anyway, I know she's supposedly genious, but I think I've had enough geniality for a lifetime."

He smiled, and things were right again. He wasn't going to crumble because he now knew it wasn't his fault, and we were going to enjoy the rest of our visit despite the horrible person who had brought us there.

"Boys," someone said from besides us. It was Finnigan, with a pink umbrella and shivering in his sleeveless coat. "Perhaps we can visit Salazar's Museum now," he said.

"We're not going anywhere with _her_ ," I immediately refused. The mere idea of seeing her again made me want to throw up. And I wouldn't let her hurt Scorpius any further.

"She's not invited."

Hesitant, I looked at Scorpius, who shivered. "I don't think..."

"We should go," he cut me off. "We only have one day left here, and I won't let an embittered woman ruin it."

 

We bumped into Mum the moment we started walking towards the centre of the village. She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw us, completely soaked and crammed under Finnigan's umbrella. "What are you doing here!? Seamus, what's happening? You're drenched!"

"Let's say that I don't need the book anymore," I answered. "Sorry, Mum. It's a long walk."

"But why? I don't understand anything." She frowned, looking just like me in Transformations. "Seamus, what happened?"

"Ginny, I... The visit went a little bit wrong."

"A little bit!?" I shouted, outraged. My mother killed me with a look.

"Alright, alright. The visit went plainly wrong, and I'm taking them to the Salazar Museum so that they can forget about what has just happened in Luna's living room."

Mum's lips were rounded into a perfect 'O' as she  stared at Finnigan, then at Scorpius, then at me, then at Seamus again. "Okay," she snorted, closing her eyes and trying to calm down. Her nose was dangerously red, which meant we were all risking our lives because she was angry beyond possible. "Okay," she repeated. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to the Museum and you two are visiting it while you, Seamus, tell me what has gone so wrong as to have two children out while it's raining cats and dogs. Sounds good?"

Her nose was nearly the same colour as her hair now. "Sounds good," Finnigan muttered. Scorpius and I nodded along. 

Finnigan lent us his umbrella and casted a Parapluvia so that he could talk to Mum without us nearby. I don't know what they were discussing, but Mum's voice was growing louder and louder each time she spoke, so I guess they weren't talking about the latest match of the Chudley Cannons.

"We shouldn't eavesdrop," Scorpius whispered to me, reading my mind. Guilty. "Even though it does look like a promising conversation, it's not correct, and your mother will kill us."

"Merlin, Scorpius," I grumbled, "why do you always have to be right?"

"To make up for all the times you're wrong," he nonchalantly fired back. I stared at him. Such a burn had come from the same boy who had been on the verge of tears mere minutes ago. Sometimes I suspected that he had split personality. 

Salazar's Museum wasn't very far from the centre of the village, so it only took us the ten-minutes walk from Lovegood's house and then a short one to get there. It offered a shocking view, and not only because it was made of green and black bricks and was shaped like a giant poo, but because a real life-sized bronze statue of who must be Salazar Slytherin stood between the doors, leaning on a cane while the snake in his hand whispered into his ear. 

" _Salazar Slytherin (Cambridgeshire, 10th century - ?, 11th century) was one of the most powerful wizards of the Middle Ages, and one of the founders of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This village was built around his last known residence."  
_

"So this is Mr Slytherin," Scorpius observed, looking at him. 

"He reminds me of Kerchak in _Tarzan_ ," I said, looking at his monkey-like face. "Only, with an extremely long beard. Sweeping must be easy with that—just move your chin, and ta-daah, your floors are all clean and shiny."

"Reminds you of who?" 

I stared at him for a second, frowning, before remembering that I wasn't talking to Rose or Hugo. "Right, sorry. I take it you haven't watched _Tarzan_?"

"Um, no."

A terrible suspicion assaulted me.

"Scorpius..., do you know what Disney is?"

Opening and closing his mouth without saying anything, he looked like a fish. "It's this amusement park Muggles love, right?"

"SCORPIUS, TELL ME YOU HAVE WATCHED AT LEAST ONE DISNEY MOVIE."

He didn't answer, and put on a puppy-eyed pout. "But I thought it was an amusement park," he finally whispered.

This was officially the most terrible day ever. Lovegood sucked, we had probably caught the promised flu while the rain soaked us to our bones, and Scorpius didn't know anything about Disney. It could only get worse if, I don't know, lightning struck us four.

Little did I know, it _could_ get worse.

 

"And here you have some of Salazar's robes," Finnigan told us, pointing at what looked like tatters pathetically hanging from wooden mannequins. "They were all made of silk, so they are in very poor conditions nowadays. But trust me, they were magnificent back in his time."

"Old Slytherin had zero sense of fashion," Mum said. "Black and Oxford blue? Had I been his tailor, I would've refused to make such an aberrant thing."

The guy at the entrance who had sold us the tickets gave her a dirty look from the other side of the hall, but if she noticed, she didn't care.

As it had been built inside Slytherin's house, the inside of Salazar's Museum was dark, narrow, crammed, and full of everything. Whoever had come up with the idea of the museum had insisted on putting every single thing they could put their hands on inside display cabinets, so every caudron, shabby robe, portrait, book, and piece of cutlery was trapped inside an unnecessarily enormous box of glass. Moving inside the museum was a constant anguish. It felt like being inside a coffin.

Mum was reading the brochure we had been given, the same one I was using to fan myself. After her chat with Finnigan and a few words I wasn't allowed to say, she had gone back to her usual self, the caring, smiling and loving mother I knew. She had assured me she didn't mind having had to walk back to the inn for my book, and told Scorpius to ignore Lovegood's comments. When he nodded, I felt like there was something I didn't know, something I was being left out of. I didn't like the feeling the tiniest bit.

"Here, you can see Salazar's partner," Finnigan said, calling my attention. Were there dead lovers inside the museum? The visit had gone from zero to hundred real quick. "He named her Vipera, which is Latin for viper."

"Makes sense," I murmured, disappointed. There was no corpse, but rather a dissecated snake that looked like she was dancing a polka.

"To continue the visit, we have to go upstairs," Finnigan warned us. "That's where he had his..., laboratory, to give it a name."

"Ugh," Mum said. "No stairs for me—I'm tired. Boys, I'll wait for you down here. Don't worry, there's a souvenir shop there," she added, pointing at an automatic sliding door that looked completely out of place. "Let's see if I can find a magnet shaped like the charming Vipera."

Finnigan shrugged. "Okay, Ginny, we'll see you in a few minutes. Boys, are you two up for it?"

"Yeah," I nodded. Potions was the only subject I was good at, and I was really interested in Slytherin's lab.

"Um..." Scorpius bit her lip, looking at the steep, claustrophobic stairs ahead of us. "Okay."

He didn't look okay with it. "You can stay if you want," I told him, "you know that, right? Maybe there's a Vipera plushie in the shop that's worth a thousand visit at the upper floor."

"No, no, it's fine. I want to see it."

Again, he didn't looke like he wanted to see it, but I didn't argue any further; after all, it was his decision. Mum had already disappeared through the sliding door, so we started climbing the stairs.

Every tread creaked and sunk as if it were going to break, and there was no banister to help, so you can imagine that it wasn't a pleasing experience. I briefly considered going up the flight I had left on all fours, but then I thought that I preferred sore muscles to eternal shame. Besides, there was no light, and I didn't trust the cleaning service of the museum enough as to put a single finger on a step.

Sixteen treads, but they stretched to the infinite; I couldn't quite believe it when we reached the upper floor. Finnigan looked perfectly fine, and the fact that I was in a considerably worse shape than him depressed me while I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand. Scorpius, on the other hand, was sweating and panting. We were a pair of useless coach potatoes.

"Lifts for the win," he gasped, coughing. He looked really bad, as if he had run a marathon instead of gone up a flight of stairs. 

"Are you okay?" Even though he stuck both thumbs out, I didn't really trust him, so I started fanning him with the brochure. I wasn't going to read it anyway.

"Boys," Finnigan called. "The interesting stuff is over here."

Salazar had been quite a naughty potioneer: even though I was only beginning my second year of Potions, I recognized at least seven venoms, out of which four were deadly. I wondered what kind of friends he had. Besides the potions, there were also ingredients of dubious origin, like silver unicorn blood or a Chimaera egg. 

"As you see, he was quite skilled in poison-making. The bottle we have here contains Morte Fatalis, an extremely powerful venom that kills within seconds. Not only that, but the corpse also pollutes the surroundings. Once someone has drunk it, it's very difficult to prevent their whole village from dying. When, in the 13th century, dark wizards began using it to eliminate their enemies, it caused what Muggles know as the 'Black Death'. Don't worry, this one has lost its deadly properties."

Just in case, I stepped away from the display cabinet.

"Here, there's another good example of his knack with potions. You're looking at a perfectly brewed Polyjuice Potion, which puts even expert potioneers at trouble. After nearly nine centuries, it still works like the first day."

"How do you know?" Scorpius asked, looking less like he was going to have a heart attack. His voice was still a bit shaky, though.

"An expert came and analysed its properties. Basically, he put a hair from the mayor inside and drunk it," Finnigan explained. "He was nuts. Fortunately for him, Slytherin was really good at this."

What kind of madman drunk a potion cooked nine hundred years ago?

Finnigan showed some more serious stuff the founder of our house had brewed, such as lots of Elixir to Induce Euphoria, which made me suspect he wasn't very happy with his life, or enough Alihotsy Drought to make the whole United Kingdom hysterical. There were all kinds of potions with all kinds of effects, and I couldn't help but marvel at Slytherin's talent. Although lots of them were harmful, no one could have denied he was a genious.

"Now we're going downstairs again," Finnigan said. "At least, I am. I need to go to the toilet."

Instead of following him, I inspected the only potion I hadn't taken a look at. It was bright blue and sparked, something you definitely wouldn't expect from something brewed nine hundred years ago. The name, Magica Corpore, didn't tell me anything. 

"Albus," Scorpius called. When I turned, he was sitting on the floor, crouched, his forehead resting against his arms, on his knees. "I'm feeling a bit dizzy. Can you please wait for me?"

"Of course," I nodded, kneeling besides him. "What happens? Can I do anything to help? Let me—"

"No, no, it's fine," he said. It was the second time he said 'it's fine', and it didn't sound any truer than the first one. "I just need to rest a moment."

Being still has never been one of my fortes, so I passed an arm over his shoulders and rubbed his arm, trying to reassure him. "Are you sick?" I asked. He didn't answer. "Hey, have you noticed that Salazar's house is shaped like a giant poo?" He didn't laugh. 

Almost five minutes passed until he raised his head. The sight was devastating: he was paler than ever before, his grey eyes were dull now, locks of his blonde hair were stuck to his sticky forehead. Maybe he hadn't answered my question because he _was_ sick. "Albus," he murmured, and I could feel fever in his voice. "Albus, tell me what Disney is."

"What?" The question caught me by surprise, because I was too busy worrying. "Disney?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Besides from an amusement park."

"Walt Disney Pictures makes films," I said. "The first ones were cartoons, like _Pinocchio_ , _Dumbo_ or _Aladdin_ , but now they're into 3D animation. _Frozen, Big Hero 6, Inside Out._ Haven't you heard of any of them? Really?"

"No."

A violent shiver shook him, and I squeezed his body, desperate, unable to move and tell anyone and not knowing how to help. "Scorpius, what can I—"

"Keep talking," he demanded. "What are your favourite Disney films?"

"Um, my favourites are _Hercules_ and _Treasure Planet_. I also like _Big Hero 6,_ and _Mulan,_ but I absolutely hate _Frozen._ It's been five years since it came out, and my sister still sings that Merlinforsaken song every day."

"Which song?"

" _Let it go._ The Anti Christ of music."

He let out a small snort, and it took me a second to realise that he was laughing. That sound was so different from his usual laugh, sounded so wrong, that I suddenly had fear. A lot of fear. 

"Sing it."

"Eh... Scorpius, I really think we should—"

"Please."

I shouldn't have paid attention to his ravings. I should have flown downstairs to warn Mum and Finnigan, and I should have told his parents. I should have made sure he was put in St. Mungo's so that he could get well. Instead, I sang for him.

"I'm a terrible singer... Okay, okay." I cleared my throat, wanting to slap myself for not looking for help but unable to deny him anything in that state. " _The snow glows white on the mountain tonight, no footprints to be seen... A kingdom of isolation, and it looks like I'm the queen. The wind is howling like the swirling storm inside; tried to keep it in, Heaven knows I've tried..._ It gets worse," I warned him.

"Keep going."

" _'Don't let them in, don't let them see, be the good girl you always have to be! Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know...' Well, now they know! Let it go, let it go, can't hold it back anymore—let it go, let it go, turn my back and slam the door. Here I stand, and here I'll stay! Let the storm rage on... The cold never bothered me anyway_."

"You were right. You're a terrible singer."

Sighing, Scorpius finally got up. When he staggered, I immediately grabbed his arms to keep him on his feet. He felt so fragile in my hands. I was afraid of breaking him.

"Let's go," he said, as if nothing had happened. He sounded like his usual self again, and after rubbing the sweat off his forehead, looked almost healthy, but I didn't buy it. Something had happened to him, and I wanted to know what it was. I wanted to help.

Like any other person, he didn't like being stalked with questions, so I didn't say anything while we walked downstairs to the entrance, where Mum and Finnigan were waiting. 

"Where were you?" Mum asked, a small bag which read SALAZAR'S MUSEUM hanging from her wrist. "Look, they did have a Vipera magnet. I bought one for Uncle Ron too—I can't wait to see his face. Scorpius, are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded. Liar. Liar liar liar. "Just a bit tired, that's it."

"Well, today has certainly been intense," she said, "and it's only twelve in the morning. Would you like to rest at the inn? We can do something else this afternoon."

"That sounds great. Thanks."

 

Finnigan had to go, and he apologised one more time on Lovegood's behalf before leaving. I wasn't interested in having him excuse someone who clearly wasn't sorry at all, but Mum gave me a death look, so I politely accepted the apologies and said goodbye. Our walk back to the inn was slow. As if she had sensed what had just happened at Salazar Slytherin's lab, Mum didn't rush as she usually did. Maybe she knew everything, or maybe I felt so guilty that, to me, everyone seemed to know how irresponsible I had been.

"What's _Big Hero 6_ about?" Scorpius suddenly asked, interrupting my mental self-lecturing.

"Eh? Um, it's about a boy, Hiro, who's a genious at building robots, but uses it to win illegal fights and gets into a lot of trouble with the police. His brother Takahashi shows him the university he works at, which is really cool, and his latest project, a personal caretaker—" I smile at that "—called Baymax. So Hiro tries to enter the university, and he manages by creating small robots he calls NanoBots, but there's a huge explosion and his brother dies..."

"Hey!"

"That's the first ten minutes, Scorpius. During the rest of the film, Hiro looks for the one who killed his brother with the explosion and stole his NanoBots with the help of Baymax and Takahashi's friends."

"It sounds good."

"What century do you live in? It was a blockbuster three or four years ago."

Scorpius pouted. "Don't bully me, you hideous thug."

"Then watch Disney films and update yourself to the 21st century version. I'll drag you to my house and have you stand a Disney marathon, if I have to."

He laughed. It sounded like him again. "Merlin, it sounds terrible."

"Shut up. The terrible is the fact that you didn't even know what Disney is."

"What?" Mum chimed in, looking at Scorpius. "You don't know what Disney is?"

"I do now," he defended himself.

"My daughter Lily wouldn't forgive you for that. You're invited to watch some at our house, Scorpius. You're in great need."

After telling him what _Big Hero 6_ was about, Scorpius made me talk about _Treasure Planet, Ratatouille, Up, Tarzan, Toy Story, Zootopia, Brave_ and, of course, the horrible _Frozen_. Even though he asked me about over twenty films, his prodigious mind kept all the details, and I found myself explaining to him the Pixar theory. Hey, I had had plenty of summers to investigate it.

"...And the witch in _Brave_ is actually Boo, from _Monsters Inc._ , who tried to travel through space and time to find her friends Sully and Mike but ended up in the wrong age instead." 

"You have too much spare time, Albus," he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, and you have no childhood," I fired back, opening the door of the inn for him. Mrs Walsh got up from her chair, smiling.

"I can't believe she did that!" she exclaimed, outraged, when we told her what had happened at Lovegood's living room. "She looked like a reasonable person. I'm so sorry, darlings."

Scorpius shrugged. "Well, at least we've spent our weekend visiting a lovely village. It could have been worse—we could have spent it doing homework."

"Don't worry, Scorpius, you'll do all your homework when you get back to the castle," Mum said.

"Well, it's a relief, thanks," he answered. "I didn't sleep last night wondering whether I'd be able to do them or not."

Mum gave me the book she had come for an hour or so before, and I looked at it with disgust. Even though the fact that the author was horrible shouldn't affect the story she had written, Charlie and Hazel and Augustus and Belena and Nina and everyone from 'The Lost Crown' had lost all their charm. I wasn't sure I would read the books ever again. How could I, when the mere mention of them reminded me of Lovegood's behaviour with Scorpius? 

(And when she had told me that Hazel and Gus died, that Belena didn't become a Guardian nor a member of the Circle and that Nina and Charlie broke up)

 

That same Scorpius wanted to take a nap, but I didn't let him. The moment we entered the room, I threw myself on it, trying to take up as much space as possible.

"You're not going to bed until you tell me what happened in Slytherin's Museum," I warned him. "Scorpius, you looked very sick. I was afraid you would pass out, and I know I'm not overreacting. Something's going on, and I don't know what it is, but it's worrying me, and the fact that you haven't told me is even worse. Please, let me... let me in," I pleaded, feeling miserable.

For Merlin's sake, we were friends. Maybe this was just a particularly strong cold, but my gut told me there was something deeper going on, and he hadn't told me. What could be so horrible that he had to hide it from me? Or was it that we weren't as close as I had thought we were? Whatever the reason, Scorpius was hiding something, and I didn't know for how long had he. I needed to know.

Scorpius lowered his gaze to the floor, which was like admitting to be sick and to have hid it from me. But not the average sick. It was the kind of attitude from someone who is really, really sick.

"Albus, you might not want to hear it," he warned me. "I'm trying to... Please, don't ask me. It isn't easy."

Under different circumstances, I would've given up. I would've said sorry, stopped insisting, changed the topic. But not now. Not after what I had seen in Salazar's Museum.

Because, I was sure now, Scorpius was very sick.

I used both arms to get up from bed, and went to him. His eyes were teary, and wouldn't meet mine, but I lifted his head with my hands and looked into them. "Scorpius," I said as softly as I could, considering that I was about to have a panic attack worse than the one I had had before meeting Lovegood, "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. But up there, in the Museum, you don't know... You don't know how afraid I was. You looked like you could die, and I wasn't able to do anything. Just to sing that terrible song and be there, wondering what was happening and whether you were going to be okay. I need to know. Whatever it is, you can tell me, Scorpius. Don't push me away, please. You can tell me."

It sounded weak and pathetic, but I didn't know how to express how I felt, how much the clench in my chest that grew stronger every second hurt. I didn't know how to make him know how worried I was for him.

"..." He remained quiet for a while. "Albus, I'm sick. Very sick."

Two tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Staying with my grandparents during summer seemed to help, but last week, the owl from St. Mungo's... They said my blood was behaving weirdly." There was a strange calm in his voice now, as if he were talking about the weather. But even when he tried to pretend it wasn't hard for him, I could sense his struggle under that façade. "So I went for a general check-up, the usual medical examinations I undergo, and the numbers peaked everywhere they shouldn't peak, and fell everywhere they shouldn't fall."

"What are you—"

"Albus," he cut me off, "I'm dying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't imagine how much I hate myself right now. (Edit: also, happy belated 2017! Let's hope for less drama)


	16. Chapter 16

Once, when I was six, James fell from a tree while we were playing Man Hunt with Rose, Victoire, Dominique, Teddy, Lucy and Molly. Even though I hadn't had anything to do with it and he fell because he had tried to jump from one branch to a higher one and slipped, I still felt guilty and sad. Guilty because I felt that, somehow, I should have done something to avoid him getting hurt. Sad because I loved my brother, even if he sucked almost all the time, and didn't want to see him injured so badly he was unable to get up, trying to hold back the tears so as not to freak us out even though, as the doctor told us later, he had broken his forearm and two ribs, and swollen his wrist.

James' bruises healed within two weeks, and in the meantime he was proud to tell the story to anyone willing to listen. But my remorse didn't fade along with the dark shades that splashed his face. It didn't until, one rainy afternoon, he sat with me, looked into my eyes and said it wasn't my fault but his for acting stupid, and that I shouldn't blame myself for things I wasn't responsible for.

Even though that had happened six years ago, I realised I was feeling exactly the same I had six years ago. It wasn't my fault that Scorpius was ill, obviously, but I nonetheless felt horrible because I didn't want to see him the way I had an hour ago, trying not to break down so as not to freak me out even though, as he had told me, his body was killing his magic and consequently him.

"It's called magiconecrosis," he explained in a husk. "It's Latin for 'death of magic'. It means that my body is destroying the magic I have inside."

"What... what does that mean?" I hated how badly my voice shook. His, on the contrary, was completely emotionless, every word measured and chosen carefully.

"Magic genes are very specific portions of the human DNA which determinate whether a child will be a witch or a wizard or not. They have a very powerful influence on the person, and depending on whether the individual is homozygous, which means the two alleles that form a cromosome are magical, they can be vital for a person's life..."

Scorpius had been staring at the wall during his speech, but he interrupted himself to look at me and discover that I wasn't following. I was trying my best really, but all I could think of was that he was very, very sick, and that his disease was killing him, and that sweet Merlin, I didn't want him to die. And also, I had no clue what a homozygous or an allele were, so yeah. Way to go.

"How can I explain it...?" Tapping his chin with a finger, he looked a little more like himself. Only, I didn't buy it. Maybe he was hiding the pain again, concealing what was going on inside his body. "You are Albus because your cells have a kind of instructions manual which says how to build you. This manual is called DNA, and allyou need to know is that it is made of things called genes, which are the instructions to a specific trait. For example, you have a gene which controls the colour of your hair, and another one that makes it wavy, and another one responsible for your eyes being green. Genes are very important as, without them, the cells don't know how to make us up. This clear?"

"Uh, moreless," I nodded, making an effort to focus on what he was saying.

"Okay. In wizards and witches, there's a gene that provides that magic. Genes are more or less powerful depending on your parents, and I won't get into genetics because it's such a mess, but just bear in mind that a trait is more powerful if both your parents have it and pass it on to you. When we talk about magic, there are various degrees of powerfulness. You have more or less magic, to put it that way, depending on your genes. This is not an unbreakable rule, but generally speaking, people born to a wizarding family are more powerful than Muggle-borns."

"Hey, but Aunt Hermione..."

"She's an exception. I told you, it's not an unbreakable rule. Plus, I'm not talking about skill with magic, be careful. I'm talking about the importance of magic in your DNA. Muggle-borns have a smaller amount of magical DNA than half-bloods, for example."

And then it all made sense. Then I understood why Scorpius was trying to explain me how genetics worked, why he was emphasising the relevance of magic DNA so much, why he wanted me to understand genes.

Because Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass came from two ancient pure-blood families, and their son had inherited one of the most magical DNAs of our generation.

Because Scorpius' DNA was practically made of magic.

Because if his magic died, then there wouldn't be enough genes, enough information, to form him.

He wanted me to understand genes because he wanted me to understand how he was going to die.

"But... but at Hogwarts—you didn't... You weren't..."

He sighed, looking away. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to fight tears, to be strong for me. And that's what really broke my heart. Although he was the one facing magiconecrosis, Scorpius was making his best to protect me from the truth, to prevent me from seeing the true depth of its cruelty. Although he was very sick, he was trying to make it bearable for _me_. My vision blurried as I realised the magnitude of Scorpius' care for others. Care for me.

"Magic is intimately connected to the wizard's feelings and emotions, you know that." Too well, thank you. "So when Lovegood... After meeting her, my heart was such a mess that the disease reacted strongly. Albus, magiconecrosis is also known as magic cancer."

Maybe the memory was too hard, the events too fresh—Scorpius' façade, which had seemed flawless and unbreakable, suddenly cracked and crumbled, and everything it had kept from me leaked out violently. Scorpius, Scorpius Malfoy, the boy who never got upset, buried his face in his hands, which failed to muffle the sobs that shook his body.

"I'm scared, Albus. I don't know what's going to happen to me. I don't know whether I'll die tomorrow or the next year or in an hour, and I'm so scared. Please don't leave me. I know  it's rather selfish, and I know I have no right to ask you, but please don't leave me. Please."

Tears made of glass and fear dropped from his palms to the sheets as I rushed towards him and pulled his slim body into a tight hug. Bony arms, and these bones were made of glass; how hadn't I noticed how scrawny he was before? How had I failed to see what was happening to him?

But those weren't the questions I needed to ask myself. 

No, I needed to snap out of pity, even if it was hard and it hurt.

There was only one question I needed to ask myself.

How could I help him?

 

Scorpius fell asleep against my shoulder, clenching my T-shirt so tight his knuckles turned ghostly-white. A hole in my chest, which had grown bigger with every tear Scorpius shed, menaced to rip me apart. I needed to get out, to breathe and to let it all sink in. Under my feet, the ground menaced to crack and swallow me if I didn't. And I wasn't strong enough to get out of another dark hole. Not this time. Not when I could drag my best friend with me.

Careful not to wake him, I untangled Scorpius' fingers from the fabric and laid his head on a pillow—the moment I stopped holding him, he curled up into a tight ball and hugged himself, as if the absence of touch made him cold. Afraid that he might catch a flu and thus his condition may worsen, I pulled the sheets from underneath his body to cover him, and then put my coat atop the blankets just in case.

I didn't want to leave him alone, but if I didn't get out of the room and tried to digest what he had just told me, I wouldn't be able to handle the rest of the trip. I knew I wasn't strong enough. So I quickly scribbled down an excuse on the back of our dinner at The Yobbo Yeti's ticket, just in case he woke before I returned, and left it on the bedside table, where I knew he would find it quickly. Then I grabbed a jumper and left, closing the door slowly not to disturb him, and quickly crossed the corridor to look for Mrs Walsh at the hall.

"Mrs Walsh, could you look after Scorpius for a while?"

She raised her eyes from the new sock or glove or hat or Merlin-knows-what she was knitting. "Of course, darling. Is everything alright?"

I tried to swallow down the knot in my throat, fixing my eyes on a tapestry that hung from the wall. There were embroidered deers and crows, but the undeniable queen of the scene was an open-mouthed snake. Her eyes were red, but she didn't look evil. Just dirty and a little bit old-fashioned. "Yes, yes. But he fell asleep and I'm going out for a walk. If you could keep an eye on him..."

"It's as good as done. Enjoy your walk!"

"Yeah." I wasn't going to, but I nodded nonetheless.

 

Even though it had been magical and lively when we arrived, Salazar's Pit looked dull and decadent without Scorpius by my side to cheer it up. The brick houses weren't charming anymore, but plainly old, and the grey clouds were depressing rather than classy. Seeing children playing and laughing did little to improve my mood—in fact, it infuriated me. A baffling, boiling anger arouse in my stomach when one of them found his friend hiding behind a tree. What right did they have to be happy? Why were they so carefree and innocent? Why did Scorpius have to be the only one who suffered? Life wasn't fair at all, and I suspected it hadn't even shown itself in all its magnificent evil yet.

Unable to think as I walked, and afraid that I may be tempted to trip one of the kids with a leg if I walked by their side, I sat down on the stone edge of the fountain in the main square of the village and finally let my thoughts loose. It was like unleashing an autumn storm, one of those cloudy windy days in which all the fallen leaves spin and twirl around, up and down, like puppets at the gale's mercy.

Everything started making sense now. The letters he received every week must be from his doctor, the results of his analysis and tests. He always refused to practise spells and magic with Rose and me not because he was afraid of failing, but because his magic was eaten away and the simplest spell could unleash a catastrophe inside of him.  Only once had I seen him lose his temper, because he always tried to stay calm to control his disease. Healthy food like veggies were helpful for almost every known illness, so of course he never ate junk.

My scalp hurt when I squeezed my hair with my closed fists, biting my lower lip so hard that I pierced it and my mouth started tasting like metal. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The signals had been so evident, so clear. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I had been too focused on my own problems, my own wants and needs, and had forgotten that there were other people in the world, other people next to me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I had been the worst of friends, if I could be called so. Stupid, stupid, stupid. STUPIDSTUPIDSTUPID.

Something he had told me while he cried came back to my mind. He had spoken with such a strangled voice, it had been difficult to fathom his words into sentences with an actual meaning.

_"Mum and Dad had a big row when I told them I wanted to come with you. She was angry, because coming meant dropping most of my treatments and routines, but Dad wanted me to be happy. When she said she would rather have me alive at Hogwarts than dead at Salazar's Pit, he... He said horrible things. He snapped that, as a Death Eater, he hadn't had much joy in his life, and that if she didn't understand how he wanted me to be all the good things he hadn't been able to be and to enjoy things he had never had, like a friend, then he didn't know who was standing in front of him, because it wasn't the woman he had married. I thought... I thought they may divorce, because of me."_

Scorpius' disease didn't affect him alone; it affected all his loved ones, the way a grenade doesn't only affect the thrower, but also everyone around them. While Astoria and Draco looked like a happy couple, they actually bore the weight of their son's illness every day. Now I understood their faces at the Platform Nine and Three Quarters, why they didn't want to let him go. Because maybe he would never return alive. Because maybe they wouldn't get to spend the last minutes of his life with him. Because maybe the next time they saw him would be to celebrate his funeral.

And I had worried my parents just because I had to wait three months to get back to school. Egoistic, stupid, egoistic, stupid, selfish, egoistic, stupid, selfish, egoisticstupidseflishegoisticstupidselfishEGOISTICSTUPIDSELFISH.

My eyes itched, and when I rubbed them I felt something wet. And then I realised they were tears and started crying and couldn't stop, because Scorpius, the wonderful Scorpius, was very very sick and maybe about to die and I hadn't known, and now I knew and couldn't help him in any way and hell, I wasn't able to do anything besides watching and it hurt so much I wanted to rip my heart out of my chest and drop it into the fountain's cold waters just to soothe the pain a tad. But it was very selfish to feel that way because I wasn't the one dying and I should focus on Scorpius, but knowing that I may lose him any moment was like being shot every time I remembered it, and all I could do was cry and cry and cry and cry a river then a sea then an ocean, and it still wasn't enough.

Never enough.

"What are you—are you alright? Hey, what happens?"

I barely recognised Finnigan's voice, which switched from casual-and-polite-greet to concerned in less than a second.

"It's just... Nothing," I managed. It wasn't my duty nor my right to tell him about Scorpius, so I muttered the biggest lie ever and tried to drop the topic.

"So he finally told you."

Of course, it didn't work.

But—wait a second.

Even Finnigan had known?

Why had he hid it from me, and only from me? Did Rose know too before we embarked on our trip? And Mum? She must have known, of course. The Malfoys must have told her. But why had everyone kept me in the dark? Why had no one bothered tell me? Maybe because I didn't look like I could bear it. Maybe because I hadn't paid enough attention, or maybe because I was too childish to be trusted.

"Albus, it isn't your fault. I know it looks like it is, and it isn't your fault."

"How do you know?" I rasped, my throat sore. "Truth is, I'm tired. I'm so tired."

Finnigan didn't say anything for a long while. He sat besides me on the edge of the fountain, grabbed a dry leaf and started making it twirl between his fingers.

"Have your parents told you about Dean Thomas?"

The question was so unexpected that it took me a few seconds to react. "Eh? Yeah, of course. He's my doctor, and dated Mum once."

"Well, I suffer from a kidney disease. Can't clean my blood properly. Nothing deadly or too severe, but I have to get renal dialysis every two days. Three hours to make sure my blood won't get too dirty and poison me." He waved his hand as I opened my mouth to say something. The leaf crackled. "Don't. I'm used to it, and it's nothing out of the ordinary. But it sounds terrible, does it?"

"Yeah, it... it sounds horrible."

He offered me a sad smile. "It's the kind of truth you want to hide from everyone, because you fear what they'll say. Maybe they'll pity you. Maybe they'll go away. Maybe they'll obsess with it, try to control every moment of your life to make sure they can act the moment it gets worse. Maybe they'll hate you for hiding it from them. There are so many maybes that can happen, and so many maybes that can go wrong. I was diagnosed when I was seventeen, and had just finished school. Took me a year and a half to gather enough braveness to tell Dean."

Somehow it must make sense, but I just couldn't relate Regular Doctor Dean Thomas to Finnigan's kidney disease. Maybe he had treated him? But then he must have known, so Finnigan wouldn't have had to tell him. Semantics were killing me. I had all the pieces, but couldn't put the puzzle together.

I was watching all the stars, but couldn't fathom them into Orion the Hunter.

Finnigan cleared his throat. "First it took me four years to ask him out, ever since I realised what I felt wasn't just admiration, and that I didn't want to be only his pal. Then we couldn't be seen together at school as more than friends, because I was so afraid of what people would think, of how they would run their mouths. And after all we went through, after he had to pretend he was dating your mother to stop the rumours that had begun to arise, I still hid my disease from him. Lied when he asked. Refused to let him go with me to the doctor." He looked down at his hands, then started breaking tiny pieces of the leaf and letting them go, and watched them dance their frenetic waltz as the wind carried them away. "When I told him, he hugged me. Didn't go away, didn't get mad, didn't yell at me. Hugged me.

"Dean dealt with everything I put him through, and not because he was specially brave—which he also is, but that's not the point. Because he loved me, and I loved him, and that was stronger than anything else. Stronger than fear, stronger than gossip, stronger than blame games. Yet, I didn't realise this until I told him what happened to my kidneys and he accepted it.

"Albus, we humans are weak because we have a heart. We feel wonderful things like joy, glee, love—but also terrible ones, like despair, loneliess, fear. And fear is so powerful, we'll bow down to it and silent the truths we want to tell just because it says so, specially when our loved ones are at stake. Fear's wish is our command because we're afraid of the maybes, of the what ifs, of the possibilities. We are afraid of what we can't control. If Scorpius didn't tell you anything, it wasn't because he didn't trust you nor because he thought you wouldn't understand. He didn't tell you anything because he loves you, and he's more afraid of losing you than of what's happening to him."

I didn't know when had the tears of frustration and grief become tears of impression. But they had.

"Try to imagine how hard must it have been for him to gather enough braveness to tell you. Because his isn't an easily treated malfunctioning of the kidney, but a voracious part of himself that devours what makes him be Scorpius, what keeps him alive. If many people run away when I tell them about my disease, I can't imagine how many must have left his side because of his. And if he still decided to jeopardise what you two share because he thought you deserved the truth, then he must love you a lot. Enough to choose you over a safe lie."

Finnigan handed me a handkerchief I soaked with tears and snots, then another one, then a third one. "We don't have that kind of relationship," I finally managed to say, hiccuping. "Really."

He laughed. "Well, that doesn't make my point any less valid, Albus. Don't think of it as your fault. Think of it as Scorpius' way to test whether his friendship is as valuable for you as yours for him. In a way, he's verifying your feelings... Whichever they are."

It was a tongue-twister, but I managed to untangle it. We stayed quiet for a while.

"So what are you going to do?"

"What did _you_ do?"

He rubbed his nape, looking up to the sky. The clouds looked less menacing now. "I didn't do anything. It was Dean who worked the miracle. Even though it did sadden him that I hadn't trusted him enough to tell him before, he understood. Didn't leave. Proposed to me right there and then. Said he wanted to fight besides me, not only the disease, but every upcoming battle in life. I don't know what I've done to deserve him. Every morning, when I open my eyes, first thing I do is thanking whoever's up there for having him with me. You can't imagine how much someone like Dean means."

"Someone like Dean?"

"A true love. A soulmate. An Augustus to your Hazel. However you wanna call it."

He sounded completely comfortable with what he was saying, much more at ease than the previous time we had met. Even his speech was much more relaxed than when he gave us a tour of Salazar Slytherin's poo-shaped house. A slight accent tainted his words now, giving them a completely new rythm.

"Cheesy," I accused him, wiping the last tears. My nose felt flooded, and I shivered at the thought of what must be lurking inside.

Finnigan shrugged. "Maybe." He touched the simple silver ring he wore around his ring finger. "But, if you want my cheesy advice, don't freak out. I know it's a huge deal and it feels overwhelming, but take your time to accept it. Trust me, Scorpius has it way rougher than you. Last thing he needs is losing a friend due to something he can't control. And if you see you can't handle it, don't just leave. Explain. Don't tell him that you will still be friends, because no one buys that. Just let him know it isn't his fault."

"What? I would never leave Scorpius just because his NDA..., or DAN..., or whatever, doesn't work properly. How can someone do that?"

"Trust me, people do it all the time." He smiled to me. "But the fact you didn't even consider it is a good signal."

 

Mrs Walsh had kept her word—when I entered our room, she was knitting whatever she was knitting besides Scorpius, who hadn't moved ever since I left for my walk. Seeing him made my heart ache again, but this time, I could handle it. Finnigan's speech rewinded in my mind and started playing again. 

_Specially when our loved ones are at stake, fear's wish is our command because we're afraid of the maybes, of the what ifs, of the possibilities. If Scorpius didn't tell you anything, Albus, it wasn't because he didn't trust you, or because he thought you wouldn't understand. He didn't tell you anything because he loves you, and he's more afraid of losing you than of what's going on inside him.  
_

_Try to imagine how hard must it have been for him to gather enough braveness to tell you. Because his isn't an easily treated malfunctioning of the kidney, but a voracious part of himself that devours what makes him be Scorpius, what keeps him alive. If many people run away when I tell them about my disease, I can't imagine how many must have left him alone because of his condition. And if after all he still decided to put your love at jeopardy because he thought you deserve the truth, then he must love you a lot, Albus. Enough to choose you over a safe lie._

Scorpius had been strong for me when I had needed it, and now it was my time to pay back. Even if I had to force myself to smile every day, even if it hurt and it made me cry, I wouldn't leave him alone. He hadn't, and I wouldn't. I started thinking of every pun he had made up to put a grin on my face, every time he had helped me out with our studies, every day of mine he had made by just being there.

Sweet Merlin, I didn't deserve him. It was very simple, yet the truth of it struck me hard.

Well, it was time to try to deserve him.

"Are you feeling refreshed?" Mrs Walsh asked me, setting her needles and wool aside.

"Yes, ma'am, much better. Thanks for looking after him," I said, hugging her.

When she hugged me back, I felt the words she wasn't saying out loud.

'I'm here, too.'

I squeezed her podgy body.

'Thanks.'

After picking up her piece and the lethal-looking silvery needles, she left us alone. I kicked my trainers off my feet and unzipped the jumper, then slipped into the bed besides Scorpius. His forehead was cool to the touch, and he didn't look sick. As usual, he looked like a marble statue of some god. Only, this god wasn't invincible. But it didn't matter. He had the right to be mortal.

My hand woke him.

"Albus? What are—"

"I'm not going away, Scorpius," I whispered. Reaching for his hand under the sheets, I squeezed and held it while his eyes flooded with relief and gratitude and tears. "Not now, not ever. I'll be around to bug you for a long time."

"You don't know how much it means," he managed to articulate before bursting into tears again. This time he didn't grab my T-shirt. It was me pulled him into my chest instead, and let him cry at ease. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you."

But, and Finnigan had opened my eyes to this fact, it was me who had a thousand things to thank him for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged this Deamus, tagged this angst, tagged this fluff, tagged this angst, tagged this drama, tagged this angst, tagged this Scorbus, tagged this angst, also tagged this angst. Kept my promises. (And went sentimental as hell with Seamus' part, to be honest, but come on, he was asking for it)


	17. Chapter 17

Despite the fact that we only had that afternoon to explore what was left of Salazar's Pit, because we would depart early in the morning next day to arrive at my house around 12 and eat with my parents and Lily before being dropped at the castle, I insisted on staying at the inn. After a bit of crying here and there, I talked Scorpius into telling me he had started a palliative chemo, which he explained was a Muggle cocktail of chemicals.

"And why are you using Muggle treatments, if your disease is magical?"

"Very good question," he congratulated me, as if he were teaching me a lesson from a book instead of talking about what was killing him. "It affects my magic, but the root is in my genes. They're the wrong-wired ones, thus who need to be treated. And while most of them are magical in some way, the base codes aren't."

Instead of complaining that I didn't understand a word—which I didn't, don't get me wrong—, I stayed quiet while I tried to chop the information down into moreless manageable chops. The whole genetics thing was a confusing mess, I swear. "So your cells are magic, but the instruction manuals they use to make you up are not. And because the manuals are non-magical, the medicines you're being treated with are so as well. Right?"

"Right."

Extremely proud of myself, I smiled. "Where's my golden star?"

"Up in the sky."

Sweet Merlin. Even under such conditions, he was able to joke.

"Sorry, Al. I kind of fooled you into believing you were friends with a healthy person," he said suddenly, staring at the ceiling. I turned and propped up on my elbow to look at him.

"Hey, I'd have done the same to you." That made him laugh. It was a rythmic laughter, _his_ laughter again. One hour ago, I couldn't believe I would hear it ever again.

"No, you wouldn't have." He shrugged. "But we can't all be as amazing as you are." His smile contorted into a grimace.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, ready to jump off the bed and call for help.

"No. Just..." He stared at the ceiling again for a long time, silent. One would think three wooden beams and a horrible white gotelé can't be interesting for more than ten seconds, but apparently they could for Scorpius.

Right when I thought he had fallen asleep again, he talked.

"I like this world. I like sitting on the shore of the Black Lake. I like arguing with Rose over tyrannical kings and queens in distress. I like the sound of spells being cast. I like playing Exploding Snap with Jesper and Petra. And now... I don't even get a battle."

He sounded sad again. And not sad as in I-lost-my-favourite-quill sad. Sad as in the-deepest-kind-of-grief sad. Ignoring the wails of the matress, I sat up straight and punched his arm. It must be against every recommendation on how to treat an ill, but I didn't care much.

"Hey!" With a pout, he started rubbing the spot I where I had hit him.

"Never say that," I ordered him. "Never. Of course you get a battle, Scorpius. Every day you get up is a new combat zone, and every day without giving up is a conquest. So don't say there's no battle you can fight, because there's always one. And there's always a chance that you'll win, no matter how small."

"But what am I at war with? My cancer. And what's my cancer? My cancer is me. My self-destructive cells are made of me as much as my brain and my eyes and my heart. It's a war, Albus, with an already set winner."

He was too smart for the kinds of solace I could offer.

After a while in silence, I sighed and reached out for my wand, but thought it twice in the last second and grabbed my beanie instead.

"Get up." While I passed an arm through a sleeve of my coat, I threw his to the bed, where it landed with a soft 'thud'. "We're going out."

"What?" Dazed, Scorpius' eyes went from his black mac to me and then back.

"Get up. We're going out." A scarf and gloves and a hoodie followed Scorpius' coat, resulting in a very nice abstract sculpture on the messed sheets. "This room is beginning to feel like a cage. You're supposed to put that on," I kindly informed him when he looked at the clothes as if they were little green men with antennaes and only one eye. "As in wrapping up."

"Thanks," he snorted. "I had forgotten what a jumper is for."

"Welcome. And now hurry up. I'm growing old waiting for you."

 

Dragging him outside to try to get some joy of living into him was far easier than I expected. While he didn't stop complaining while he slowly—slooooowwwwwly—put on the clothes I had thrown to his face and some more just in case, he seemed to transform the moment we stepped out of the inn, the dark mood replaced by a bright one. He went from blue to white real quick.

"What do you want to explore?" he asked me when we reached the fountain. Swimming in the memories from an hour or so ago that flooded my mind, I was so lost in my thoughts that he had to repeat it twice while pulling my sleeve. "Albus! Are you even there?"

"Um, yeah," I said, shaking my head. Finnigan's words didn't go away, but at least their volume went down a tad. "First of all..." Looking around for a good place to start, I spotted the perfect one. "There."

When he found what I was pointing at, he laughed. "Surprising," he teased me, already on his way.

 

The bell happily jingled when we entered the sweet shop. It was like stepping into a completely different world; the dull colour pattern from the sky and the sand and the stone buildings vanished, replaced by the vibrant reds and blues and yellows and greens and violets and oranges and pinks of the shop. Although not big, it looked massive, all the jars and boxes piled up containing different kinds of sweets. Every second spent there felt like getting a tooth decay.

"Pinch me, because I think I've died and gone to paradise," I muttered. Always willing to help, Scorpius obediently tortured my cheek. "Auch! Softer!"

"You're filling yourself up mentally already," he scolded me. "Gluttony is a sin, you know."

"Are you kidding me? If this place ain't Heaven..."

Right when it looked like we were going to have a heated debate on sin and the classical depictions of Heaven, an old lady popped up from behind the counter, scaring me to death but not making Scorpius even blink. While my heart raced like a winning horse, I stared at the woman wide-eyed.

"Hello!" she happily greeted us, with a rough accent I couldn't quite locate. "How are you?" _Jjjjow ar yu?_

"Good afternoon," Scorpius said, tilting his head to offer his brightest smile. "We're hungry, actually. Any recommendation you may offer will be welcome."

She beamed as well. Somehow, her smile made me happy. "Of course. I have never seen you around, by the way." _I jjjav never sen yu araund._ "Are you... Argh... _¿de paso?_ " With a worried face, she looked at Scorpiu. People always managed to guess he was the most intelligent and cultured of us both.

"Yes," he answered. I had no idea what the woman had said, but he seemed to have understood. "We're spending the weekend here."

With a smile of relief, she patted the old wooden counter, which creaked. "Good, good. Do you speak Spanish, by any chance?"

Spanish? The most weird things happened at Salazar's Pit. "No," I apologised. "Um, excuse me if I seem nosy, but... Where are you? No, I mean, how did you end up here?"

Reaching for a box that seemed far out of reach, she let out a slight chuckle. "Well, I'm from Spain, as you can see." When she tripped and the pile of boxes almost cascaded over the short lady, almost burying her in sugar-coated flowers, I got out my wand, ready to risk blowing the place up for the sake of helping her out. I liked her, and didn't fancy the idea of a carton and caramel avalanche falling over her. "But my husband was from here, so I moved to be with him." _Jjjjusband wos from jjjere._ Her Js were very rough, a sound that was born in the depths of her throat that I couldn't even dream of pronouncing.

"From which part of Spain?" Scorpius, who had walked to the counter, got on a stool and tiptoed to grab the box she had been dangerously trying to reach. "I went to Barcelona once."

"No, not Barcelona!" She patted his hand when he handed her the box. "Thanks, dear. No, I am from Salamanca, in Castilla y León, although I lived in Madrid for a very long time." Scorpius' _Barselouna_ sounded very soft compared to her pronounciation. I had no clue where any of those places were, but I nodded and tried to look like I did. "But Barcelona is beautiful, I agree. Did you see the Sagrada Familia?"

"Um, I think so." He frowned, trying to remember something. "The name just slipped my mind... A very tall building which is still under construction? By a very famous architect."

"La Sagrada Familia," she nodded. "Antoni Gaudí is the man you're looking for. He was a genious." Something inside the box sounded when she opened it, like a bee's wings. "Violetas?"

Curious, I leaned forward to see what she was offering us. Lily would have loved it: the sweets were shaped like small flowers, and their lilac colour was the most appetising thing I had seen that day.

"How much?" Scorpius asked, managing to sound polite.

"Oh, these are free." Smiling, she let him grab a sweet and then stretched her open hand out to me. "Not many children have the time to talk to me, and even less grown-ups. Consider them a present, a compensation. A thank-you."

They were the best thing I had ever tasted. Their smooth blueberry flavour only reinforced my theory that we were in Heaven, and they were the right size—not too small, not too big. Having a very exquisite sweet tooth, I fell for them the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.

"Tell me I can buy a hundred boxes," I babbled. "Merlin, they're the best thing ever."

"I second that," Scorpius nodded. He looked like a dog who's being scratched. Maybe he would start moving his leg in circles if the lady gave him another violeta.

The woman laughed. "They are typical candies from Madrid," she explained. There's a shop called La Violeta in Plaza de Canalejas, near Gran Vía, Madrid's main street—that's where the original and best violetas are produced. My mother used to work there, and she taught me all the secrets. I like to think that mine are moreless okay."

Moreless okay? Gluttony wasn't a sin. Saying her sweets were 'moreless okay' was.

While we danced across the store filling our transparent plastic bags with every kind of sweets you can imagine—or at least while I did—, she described Madrid to us at Scorpius' request. (Yes, Scorpius was going to eat sweets! I couldn't believe my eyes, either) Even though she made some grammar mistakes here and there and couldn't recall some words, her description was colourful enough that, if I closed my eyes, I could imagine everything she was describing—the sempiternally crowded Gran Vía which never slept and the Schweppes neon lights that watched over the flow of tourists, the magical Puerta del Sol where every new year was welcomed with grapes and cheers, the beautiful Plaza Mayor with its coffee smell and the gentle warmth of the sunlight. Somehow, she made me travel to a faraway place I had never been too, but that felt familiar to me in a strange yet comforting way. It was one of the best spent hours of my life.

"...and remember, boys, if you ever get to travel to Madrid..."

" _Bocata de calamares,_ " we answered at unison, smiling at each other.

"That's it. And a walk at El Retiro." With a nostalgic smile, she rested her head against a hand and sighed. "If only I could visit it one more time..."

"But you can," I said, frowning. "I mean, you could do it. Take whatever you've saved and travel to Madrid one last time."

Taking my full-to-the-top bag, she smiled in a tender but incredibly sad way. "I could," she said, separating the sweets inside the plastic to count them, "but it wouldn't be the same without Oliver. He was from another country, but he taught me the city's best kept secrets. I will only get lonely if I go. Maybe today's Madrid isn't for me. Maybe it's better that I return to the Madrid of my memories and dreams, the Madrid that was for both of us."

She started humming a melody while she finished counting. I didn't understand Spanish but for _bocata de calamares_ , _violetas_ and _olé_ , but I did understand music. Maybe the old lady before us had loved and been loved so much, the departure of her husband had left the huge hole I was looking at. Maybe hers had been a story to remember.

And if it hadn't, it still didn't deserve to wither away with her.

"How did you meet Oliver?" I asked, staring into her hazelnut eyes. The latter opened widely, surprised, and then narrowed as she smiled again.

"It's a long story," she warned us. "And these will be eight galleons, please."

While I payed for which were the cheapest sweets of my life, I felt Scorpius slip to my side, showing her the few liquorices he had gotten. Leaving a golden galleon on the counter, he leaned against it and cupped his face with both hands, elbows firmly planted on the light wood.

"Let's hear it, then. I love long stories."

Tears made the lady's eyes shine like a newly bought glass.

 

We didn't get to explore every corner of Salazar's Pit, as we had originally planned, but some of the most unknown places of Madrid and Wales instead as a very young Paula met and fell for a very young Oliver while the latter finished his Architecture carrier at the Universidad Politécnica, and then ran after him when his father's health forced him to abandon the family they had begun to be. Soapy as it all sounded, the story brought laughter to the pit of my stomach and sadness to my chest and surprise to my mouth and tears to my eyes, and while she told us how they had decided to settle down in Salazar's Pit after a very criticised and looked down on relationship, I thought that maybe it all hadn't happened just because. Maybe we hadn't entered that shop just because. Maybe Scorpius hadn't asked where was she from just because. Maybe every small action had been meant to lead us to her retelling of a fully lived life, and maybe it was some kind of lesson to us both—no matter how hard it seemed. It was our right, our privilege and our duty to make the difference somehow, to live instead of just survive.

Maybe our paths had been meant to cross, to teach each other a valuable lesson.

When we exited the shop, Paula started making numbers for an aeroplane ticket to Salamanca, where her sister lived. While she pressed buttons in her calculator, Scorpius and I returned to the fountain and sat to watch what was left of the sunset. The sky was barely orange anymore.

"Scorpius," I said, breaking the silence.

"Yes," he answered.

I suddenly didn't know why had I talked, because it was the kind of special moment you don't want to ruin with small talk. But somehow, he understood.

"Look. Orion is coming out again," he murmured, pointing at the three aligned stars that were beginning to be visible. "I wonder what he has hunted today."

"Deers."

"Or maybe a wild boar."

"No. Deers. Trust me, he looks like he brought two big deers down."

The seven small dots in the night sky didn't look like they had brought even a fly down, but Scorpius stared at them and nodded all the same.

"Poor things. I hope they had a good life."

"If they made an effort, sure. If they just let it slip past while they chewed on grass, then they were already half dead, so death shouldn't be a big deal."

Guess who wasn't talking about deers anymore.

"Who says they let it slip past? Maybe they lived in their own, unique way."

"Maybe," I agreed.

He stayed quiet for a while. "When I was a young boy, I constantly mistook Orion and the Swan, because two of the stars weren't as bright and I failed to notice them every night." Coughing, he hugged himself.

"Hey, if you're cold, we can get back. No problem in continuing our philosophical debate on deers in a warm place."

Of course, he completely ignored me. "Father would always tell me, 'Scor, you forgot the two small stars again. See them now? They don't shine as much as Betelgeuse, but they are still there, beautiful and radiant.'

"There are many types of stars, and they don't all shine the same. Some are like flashlights, bathing everything in a pure white. Some are weaker, a lit-up match in a dark room. Some are the red light of a turned-off radio. But all of them shine, and that's what matters. Maybe it's the same with lives. Some meant to be looked up to, lived fully and with passion. Some aren't as legendary, but still great. And some may look boring and simple, but are still more than litres of oxygen and heartbeats. Maybe we don't have to be great every day. Maybe we just have to be where and with whom we want to, and then the rest will come along by itself."

Although the stars were very nice and interesting and all that stuff, he outweighed them. Somehow, Scorpius always outweighed everything. No wonder summer had been the worst thing ever—once you got used to his geniality, everything else was dull.

Even _I_ was dull. Scorpius shone like the Betelgeuse he loved so much, and all I could do was cast a shadow as a result.

And when the Scorpius star burned out, only darkness and silence would be left.

The thought popped up out of nowhere, and felt like a horrible foreshadowing. I felt cold and numb for no apparent reason.

"Albus," he called, touching my hand. "There's something I didn't tell you."

Or maybe there _was_ a reason.

"Surprise."

With a soft laughter, he patted my knuckles with his fingertips. "Okay, guilty." Clearing his throat, he scratched his ear with the hand that wasn't on mine. "Magiconecrosis... Has a very short life expectancy. Depending on how much you use magic, it can vary, but the range isn't very wide."

The words didn't seem to make much sense in the context at first, but then everything slowly fell into its place and the pieces started to form a puzzle before my eyes, stealing the air from my lungs. All the good feeling from the sweet shop vanished, and suddenly only a 'No' and a 'Please, no' were left.

"Don't make me ask you the question," I said through gritted teeth.

"Albus..."

"Don't. Make me. Ask you. The question," I repeated, stressing every syllable. And somehow I all of a sudden had to fight tears, because a gloomy sadness had flooded my eyes and they menaced to overflow.

Accepting that he was sick was one thing. Hearing the date of his death was a very different one.

"The average ill lives for eleven years, Albus."

The twelve-year-old sitting by my side was unable to meet my gaze.

 

After troubled cries and an attack that left him unable to get up from the floor and walk the few metres that separated us from the inn during the most anguishing ten minutes of my life, Scorpius slept soundly besides me, his breathing slow and steady. Moonlight on his marble skin made him look like a supernatural being, even though he was far from being invincible.

Unable to sleep, I watched over him, afraid to close my eyes and wake up to a dead body.

Now that I didn't have to pretend that I was holding it together, I let the cracks inside of me widen, and I crumbled like a sandcastle when stepped onto.

Now that I didn't have to wipe his tears, I let mine flow.

How had I been so stupid? When Scorpius told me he was sick, all I had needed to be alright again had been a speech on the One True Love that fixes it all from a guy whose kidneys didn't work properly, but who had a perfectly normal lifespan, a partner who loved him and a very fancy sleeveless coat. What the hell was wrong with me?

Even though I had rationally accepted the disease he was suffering from, some part of me hadn't registered the fact that he would..., that he...

That he...

That he would

_die._

That the amazing Scorpius Malfoy, who broke all stereotypes and gave a new meaning to the stars themselves, would soon depart to a place where I couldn't follow him. That my best friend

would

 _die_ ,

and that it would be

an

irreversible

loss.

Sweet Merlin, I had been such a fool.

I clenched fistfuls of my chair as I bent over myself, consumed by an uncontrollable rage. Rage because he was sick, because almost no one was born with the faulty magiconecrosis gene but, out of 100,000 people, he had had to be the one who got it. Rage because I couldn't do anything to stop his body from killing him, because I could only watch while he withered like a forgotten flower, because even though I was the son of two living legends, I was completely powerless. Rage because life wasn't fair, and didn't want to.

But mostly, rage because he was sentenced and counting the days to go.

For Merlin's sake, he had already outlived the average life expectancy. It was only a matter of time, maybe months or maybe minutes. Maybe he would make it to thirteen, maybe he wouldn't make it to the next hour. Maybe he would watch me graduate from Hogwarts, maybe he wouldn't wake up to see another day.

Death didn't scare me. Uncertainty did.

He tossed under the sheets and sneezed. Afraid, I immediately pulled the sheets up, folding my part so that it would cover him and getting up to take a blanket from the cupboard, which I threw over the both of us. It wasn't very thick, and I was cold. But, then again, I wasn't the one dying.

I hated that verb. I hated everything related to the d, the e, the a, the t and the h when they came together, one after the other. Maybe I even hated life a bit, for that matter. Honestly, I don't know if there was anything I didn't hate right then.

Paula's sweet voice came back to my mind.

_Oliver lived his last days to the fullest. We visited Madrid together for what would be the last time, and he made me push his wheelchair to the peacocks zone at the Parque del Retiro, where he told me, 'Look at that one! He opened his tail. Thinks he can compete with you in beauty, poor fool!'  It would be his last good day, but none of us knew. Or maybe he did, a little bit, but didn't want to tell me. Maybe he didn't want to spend the precious time we had left together worrying about his upcoming death._

Or maybe he had been egoistic. Because if he had told her, maybe she could have taken him to a good hospital where they could have put him under treatment, possibly one which gave him some more time to say goodbye to his loved ones. If he had told her, he could have gotten a few more days. Instead, he chose to tease a peacock. 

The wind rustled some leaves outside, and a solitary one grimly stuck to my window, resembling a dead fly squashed against the number plate of a car. Its shadow was strange and even a little spooky, an irregular blotch of black atop my legs. Somehow, when I looked at it, I felt as if I were looking at myself: life had just smashed me against a wall even I couldn't blow up and get rid of.

I thought of Paula's story once again before falling asleep against my will. Of something _I_ had thought.

'It was our right, our privilege and our duty to make the difference somehow, to live instead of just survive.'

And I felt on the verge of understanding something important, of answering one of the big questions about life and making an amazing discovery, but the knot in my throat had me tied to the floor and I could only caress the big revelation about life with my bare fingertips. And sleep, like a gentle mother, took my hand, let it fall back down and lullabied me until I gave up and curled up between its arms, hurt and bleeding and wishing it would somehow make everything all right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRAMA ARRIVED FASHIONABLY LATE BUT ARRIVED, GUYS. (Did anyone believe they would just get away happy and singing the Teletubbie song?) Also, don't forget Oliver and Paula—they're not only cheeky excuses to ramble about my beloved Madrid! They will be important, so keep them in mind. Love you all!


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks to a lady called Adele Pinkerton, who let us use her chimney as a payback for a ticket for the Cannons' latest match Mum had gotten her a week before, we arrived home in less than the twenty seconds Scorpius spent sneezing Flu Powder out of his nose. Apparently he was too high-class to use it, because he swore, between sneeze and sneeze, that it was the first time he used it and wasn't keen on repeating.

"Peasants like us have grown used to it, lord Scorpius. Why not Your Highness?"

"Because this Highness—"atchoo"—knows better—"senior atchoo. "Do iu hafe a haddkershief?" ATCHOO.

"Regular paper," I warned him, reaching for the box of tissues on the sideboard. "Maybe it's too shabby for your royal nose."

Rolling his eyes, he blew his nose in the most unroyalish way ever.

"Ew. You can keep it."

Sniffling, he answered, "well, I didn't mean to give you my snots. They are way too personal."

Mum, who had been bringing plates and glasses from the kitchen while we discussed the social class of Scorpius' nose's handmade products, laughed at that. When I turned to scowl at her, I saw she had chosen the best set of dishes—the one from her wedding. Odd. Only a very few selected people were worthy of the Wedding Dishes.

"Are we having any guests today?" I asked, helping her with the cutlery. She shrugged and began whistling a ditty while she folded the embroidered clothe napkins into what meant to be swans, but looked like a rustled ball of paper. "I'll take that as a 'Yes'."

"May I help you, ma'am?" Scorpius chimed in, picking the last napkin and somehow crafting a perfect swan. I shook my head in disbelief, looking at his masterpiece.

"Scorpius, just when on Earth did you learn to fold napkins into swans?" I asked, on the verge of losing the thin remnants of my self-esteem.

Absent-mindedly unfolding my mother's disasters and creating beautiful swans, even if they looked a little odd because of the previous mess they had been, he took a few seconds to realise I was talking to him. "Sorry?"

"How did you learn to do this?" I titled my chin towards the halfway-done bird nestled between his hands.

"My grandmother taught me," he answered, shrugging. "She's has a knack for details, and takes family meals very, very, _very_ seriously. I can also do Christmas trees, roses, boats and bowtruckles."

Bowtruckles? Scorpius would never cease to amaze me. "I must see that clothe napkin bowtruckle." 

He obediently started twisting and folding another napkin, which first looked like a serpent, at  best, but then somehow morphed into a bowtruckle. It was amazing. I checked his hands, making sure he hadn't cast a spell while I blinked or something.

But he would never do such a thing, I reminded myself. Magic was too dangerous to be used so lightly.

"That bowtruckle is mine," I said, trying to chase away the dark thoughts.

With his amazing napkin skills and my breakneck speed at setting cutlery and plates, we were done with the table before long. Five seats awaited to be sat on, and I wondered whether we _would_ have guests or not. Unless Mum had evil twins who were about to drop by, we were only three in the house.

Mum was busy in the kitchen, so Scorpius and I were practically on our own, absorbed as she got whenever she was cooking. After a while of him laughing at my faces in every family picture, he dropped to the sittee. "There will never be a better little Krum than you," he chuckled, wiping a tear of laughter. 

"Boy, please," I said, "there will never be a better Krum than me. We can ask Viktor if you like."

"You know Viktor Krum?" he asked, his eyes wide open. Sometimes I forgot the rest of the world had different family friends. Having spent most of my life with the only company of Rose and my family, it was something I hadn't had to worry about until very recently.

"Kind of. He fell for Aunt Hermione when she was in fourth year, and even tried to date her. It didn't work, but they have kept in touch ever since," I explained. "Last Easter, we had dinner with him, and you wouldn't believe the seats he got us for the International World Cup finals."

Scorpius shook his head, smiling shyly. "And _I_ amaze _you_ ," he said, amused. "I don't think you realise how incredible you can be."

"Oh," I answered, "don't worry. I try to keep it in mind."

Looking away, he spotted the bookshelf besides the window, squeezed between the wall and the chimney. Something must have called his attention, because he stood to inspect it. The very same manager of the Bulgarian national team nodded at him when he grabbed the photograph and set it apart, interested in the book behind. The movement made him look down at the picture, and he frowned.

"Who's the girl besides Krum? One of your aunts?"

I shook my head and walked up to him. An average brunette with her wavy mane tied in a loose ponytail rested her chin against Viktor's shoulder as she stared at me. Even if it was only a picture, the girl's pale blue eyes framed by long and dark lashes gave me the same cold chills they had when I first met her. "Nope. Denitsa Cvetkov, his girlfriend. They're going to marry in April. She's a nice girl, only a little rough."

" _Marry in April when you can, joy for the maiden and for the man_ ," he sung. "I didn't know he was dating someone."

"Yeah, well, he tries to keep it a secret. Paparazzis have ruined many to-be marriages already. So don't sell the breaking news to Witch Weekly or anything, yes? I would never be allowed to an International World Cup match ever again."

Handing me the photograph, Scorpius hooked the spine of the book with a finger and pulled enough to be able to grab it with his whole hand, leafing through it. As the pages cracled and a delicate smell like old paper and childhood memories filled the air, I recognised the dark blue volume he was holding. It was Mum's favourite—an ancient volume that compiled every wizarding fairytale ever told.

"My grandmother used to read it to my mother when she was little," I said, leaning forward to look at the pages he was flicking through. "Beedle the Bard, Lady Shalott, all the classics."

He didn't answer, focused on an image. Narrowing my eyes, I read the title of the story at the top: 'The Magic Sycamore'. 

Oh, Scorpius.

"I love this one," he whispered in a husk. He ran a finger down the trunk of the huge tree, his eyes fixed on the, in comparison, tiny boy in front of it.

Of course he did. After all, Nicholas' good but weak heart was rewarded by the Magic Sycamore with a cure for his terrible and supposedly impossible-to-treat disease after he saved the forest from a devastating fire his brother Artemus had started. Nicholas got a magical cure for putting off a fire. But, no matter how wonderful fantasy was, Scorpius wouldn't get any remedy from a tree. I felt like bribing Nicholas into giving us the sycamore's cure.

"Scorpius..."

"Don't worry. I'm okay," he affirmed, clearly everything but okay. He pushed the book back into place with his index finger, and then stepped aside so that I could put Krum's picture where it belonged, caressing two or three books more before letting his hand drop to his side. "Does your mother need help?"

I coughed. "No," I answered. "In fact, if you try to get inside the kitchen while she cooks, it won't matter if you just wanted to have a glass of water—she'll hex you." Ask Victoire. She knew best. "I, um—let's go upstairs," I offered. "To my bedroom. At least you'll have interesting things to nose around."

 

And he happily nosed around, indeed. Time flew by as he registered every inch of my shelves, commenting on the slightest dust specks and the navy blue colour of my walls and my very comfy bed and the drawings signed by James hanging from the wall and oh, how cosy it all looked. My snowball glasses hypnotised him the most, and he asked for the story of all of them.

"We brought that one from France," I explained as he shook one with a snowy prairie. The cows inside smiled and tilted their heads to eat some frozen grass when he left it back on the bedside table. "It was mid-August, but Lily fancied it. Best souvenir we've ever bought."

"And this one?"

I made an effort to remember the origins of the dark sphere. "That one... Wait. The one with the fire-breathing dragon inside, right? I think it was Uncle Charlie who brought it from Romania," I hesitated. Well, of course it had been Uncle Charlie. No one else would have even looked at a snowball glass with an Ukrainian Ironbelly inside. 

Now that I thought of it, who had designed that thing?

"He's the one who works with dragons, right?" he asked, smiling at my nod. "Great! I think I'm beginning to have a slight idea on your genealogic tree."

"Who's a good boy?" I patted his shoulder. "You are a good boy. Now leave that where you found it. I think Mum's calling us."

After looking around for the last time and apologising for the mess he had made, Scorpius followed me downstairs, when Mum had opened the main door to receive... Dad and Lily. My father was holding a bouquet of flowers, which he handed to my very surprised and even more pleased mother. My sister entered the house as fast as lightning and tackled me to the floor in a massive hug. Scorpius was clever enough to step aside, out of her way.

"Albus!" she cried, squeezing me with impressive strength for a little girl. "I missed you!"

"And you'll miss me even more if you don't let go," I grunted. "Lil, you're choking me, loosen it up a tad."

Completely ignoring me, she hugged me even tighter.

"Was your trip good?" she muttered against my chest. As I had to use the little oxygen I could gather to stay alive and reasonably conscious, I glanced at Scorpius miserably.

"Yes, it was," he answered, kneeling down besides us. "Albus, you're turning a very bright red. No, wait, it's darkening into purple."

Curiosity was enough for Lily to let go. She looked up at Scorpius, puzzled, her warm eyes wide open. "Who are you?"

"He's Albus' friend," Mum told her, "remember? Scorpius."

Suddenly shy, my little sister clutched my father's shirt and hid behind him, her face redder than her hair. Hurricane Lily turned into a summer breeze in front of unknown people. Even Uncle Charlie had trouble with her sometimes.

"So you are Lily? Albus told me you love Disney," Scorpius said, looking into her eyes and smiling, "and I was wondering if you could recommend me some films."

"Yeah, he's kind of a Disney virgin," I explained.

"Albus!" my mother cried, outraged. "Watch your mouth!"

"Alright, alright," I said, hands up, "he's kind of a Disney rookie. Better?"

Scorpius' question was all it took for Lily's shyness to vanish. A fuming soup and a juicy roast beef after, she was still rambling nonsense about Pocahontas. Had I been the one listening to her, I would've shot myself seven Disney princesses films ago, but Scorpius wasn't at the very least disheartened. In fact, he looked totally focused on what my sister was saying, and even chimed in some questions.

"So John Smith is a goodie, yes? And why does he shoot Pocahontas' friend if he loves her?" he asked, stopping mid-sentence to sip from his glass of water.

"Noooo! He doesn't shoot Kocoum," Lily explained with a certain note of superiority, "Thomas does. Thomas doesn't love Pocahontas, and he's bad. All are bad except for John."

"Oh, I see. And then, if he didn't try to kill Kocoum, why does Pocahontas' father want to execute him?"

Lily tilted her head, confused. "What's 'execute'?" she asked.

"Kill," I intervened, tousling her wild ginger mane. "It means to kill someone."

"Powhatan thought he was going to put his people in danger," Lily explained. "So he tried to protect them."

"Well, John had his entire fleet backing him up," Scorpius said. "It doesn't sound like a very wise thing to do. I mean, yes, you can kill him easily, but then the rest of the colonisers are going to rain over your tribe and very probably massacre them."

"Colo-what? What's massacre?" Lily frowned. "Albus, why does he say such strange words?"

"That's because he's very clever," I assured her.

"Like Rose?"

"Even more than Rose."

She giggled, with the kind of childish laughter that's born in the stomach and fills a room like water sprung from a fountain. "That's imposible. No one is cleverer than Rose!"

"But he's very, very close."

Dad and Mum, who had been talking about their things while we discussed Disney's version of the colonisation of North America in which _Colours In The Wind_ played in the background as Native Americans were brought down, stood and started piling up plates and glasses. Right when she was about to take the first pile to the kitchen, Dad put a hand on Mum's arm and gently said, "Don't, Ginny, Lily and I got this. Princess, can you help me?"

"Yes, Daddy!"

My sister jumped from her seat and carried all the glasses to the kitchen, then disappeared together with Dad behind the fridge's door. She only came back to carelessly leave five small plates on the table.

"I wonder what those two are doing," Mum said, smiling tenderly as she looked towards the kitchen. "Ready to get back, boys?"

"Ugh, no," I said. And I wasn't lying. Even though it had only been two days, it felt as if we had been absent from school for a month instead of a weekend. Too many things, I guess. Hogwarts seemed very far away.

"I thought you liked it at Hogwarts," she insisted. "After all, you spent the summer wailing and wishing to go back."

"Yeah, well," I muttered, ashamed, "whatever."

It was true, I had missed Hogwarts greatly during the summer. But now I had more important things to worry about than homework and exams, and wasn't interested in being busy with them again.

"Tan-ta-ta-chaaaan," Lily announced, ushering Dad into the dining room. He almost tripped over a fold in the carpet, but managed to stay away from the floor. Nestled between his hands was a white cake, with a fifteen poorly crafted in emerald fondant letters atop of it. He smiled apologetically as he left it on the table.

"I know it looks terrible, but I swear..."

"You remembered!" Mum squealed, not a serious woman in her fourties anymore. An overexcited child had taken over her. "Oh, Harry, you're the best!"

"Second to you," Dad said, running a hand through his hair. "Little Princess helped me with the recipe."

"Yes, I did," my sister proudly said, nodding frantically. "Do you like it, Mum? Dad was very worried that you might not like it."

"Lily, that kind of secrets are meant to be kept," Dad told her, frowning. He rubbed the nape of her neck, suddenly very interested in the white ceiling of our living room.

While Mum hugged Dad until he started looking redder than usual, Scorpius and I watched. He absent-mindedly played with a fork, turning it between his fingers. "It looks great," he quietly said, his stomach roaring in agreement.

"Poor thing. Haven't eaten in a week, have you?"

"Hey! Hunger is a serious XXI century issue, Potter."

"So are successful marriages," I fired back. "Let them party for a little while."

"Is it their anniversary?" he asked, surprised.

Sometimes, Scorpius amazed me. He was able to recall things such as that humans have around 70,000 thoughts a day, or that the rainbow is a mere trick of the light being dispersed by rainwater—but he couldn't deduct that it was my parents' wedding anniversary from a cake with a fifteen on it. His mind must be a wonderful but very weird place.

"You don't say, Sherlock," I teased him. It looked like he was about to reply, but another rumble from his belly shut him up.

"There's a dragon inside your tummy," Lily kindly informed him.

"Oh, my! Is it bad, doctor?"

"A lot," she assured him. "But cake will feed the dragon. Mum, Dad! I'm hungry for cake!"

While we attacked the cake Dad had somehow managed to bake without burning the kitchen down, Lily started stalking poor Scorpius.

"Scorpiooous," she called, getting the last half of his name wrong, "where are you from?"

"Me? I'm from Delawaick," he answered. "A very small village near London. Almost a district, actually."

"And you got your accent there?"

"Um, probably. Why? Do I have a lot? How does it sound?"

To me, Scorpius didn't have any kind of accent, so Lily's question puzzled us both. I had to focus on his words to notice a very subtle musicality, which must be what she meant. It conferred an extra touch of elegance to his already refined speech.

"Yes," she said, arms folded over her chest. "It sounds like you're one of the voices in off that tell the story in films."

"That's her version of a compliment," I explained to him. "A very big one, I must add."

"Is it so? Thank you, Lily."

She smiled, proud of herself. "And why are you Albus' friend?"

Wait, what?

"Hey!" I protested, elbowing her. She giggled and slapped my arm, apparently finding it all very funny.

Scorpius, who was supposedly on my side, guffawed at that. I elbowed him as well, angry with both of them. Having my best friend and my sister laughing at my social skills, or in this case my lack of them, was both sad and incredibly humiliating.

"Good question," he hicupped, patting his chest. "Actually, he's a great person and very funny. It isn't any effort to be around him."

"But he's weird," she went on. 

"Lily, shut up," I grunted.

"We are all weird in some way," Scorpius shrugged. "And yes, he's weirder than the majority, but it's a good kind of weird."

"Look," I said, "sorry to interrupt this lovely dialogue on me, but the next one gets a Bat-Bogey Hex. Laugh at someone else."

"No Bat-Bogeys under this roof," Mum warned. She was holding Dad's hand, but in a special way. As if it were something completely natural, something she had been born doing. "Or you're getting hexed too."

"But Mum!" I complained.

"No buts," she warned me.

Frustrated, I leaned my cheek against the table while Lily and Scorpius went on debating my weirdness and my parents remembered anecdotes from their wedding. Sometimes life got hard and sometimes it got easy, but some other times it just got irritating, and I wasn't good at handling that without throwing a punch or hexing someone's nose.

 

  
While Lily showed Scorpius her Disney dolls—which ranged from Aurora and Belle to Mulan—, I took Dad apart. My façade wouldn't last much longer, and I needed to tell someone about the heavy weight on my chest before it crushed me. 

"Scorpius is sick," I said, sitting on the couch and watching his crouched figure. He had been pricking the trunks inside the chimney with the poker, and turned to look at me. "Like, a lot."

Softly, he whispered, "I know."

He hung the poker from its hook and stood up, patting the ashes off his trousers as he came and sat besides me. Without any further word, he looped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me against him, resting his chin atop my head. 

"Draco and Astoria sent us an owl last week," he explained quietly. "I'm sorry he kept it from you. I'm... I'm sorry, Albus."

The fire crackled and Lily and Scorpius laughed above our heads while we stared at the dancing flames, and didn't say anything for a long time. While the orangeish lights heated up the room and made me feel a little bit warmer inside, I thought of the whole trip again, and how it shouldn't have gone the way it had, and whether the hole in my chest carved by Scorpius' harsh reality would heal. It hurt a lot, even if I wasn't sick myself. Or maybe I was.

"But you can help him," he said at last. I looked at him, puzzled. I wasn't a doctor. There was no way I could do anything to help him fight magiconecrosis. "Just be yourself, Albus. Be his friend. That's something you're very good at, and trust me, it will help as much as any medicine or treatment."

He told me again how sorry he was about Scorpius and then we got back to watching the flames, which slowly ate away all the trunks and left nothing but a pile of ashes and many lost thoughts behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE DELAY! It was very late yesterday, and the WiFi didn't work :c This chapter was a VERY transitional one, but at least we get a peek at Harry and Ginny's married life, and we meet adorable Lily as well. Soooo yeah, expect something much more thrilling coming soon! :)


	19. Chapter 19

Once, when I was little, Dad went together with Uncle Ron and Uncle George to watch a Muggle film everyone said was 'the summum of cinematographic art' and 'a visual delicatessen', which I suspect were very corny and warped words for 'a blockbuster'. Anyway, they went out a Friday night, and when they came back three hours after, probably a little drunk because Dad tried to kiss Aunt Hermione before bursting into laughter and saying how he had mistaken her for Mum, Uncle Ron climbed—or better, crawled—onto a chair and declared that Wrath Of The Titans was really something, and that there was a Before and would be an After to that film. Aunt Hermione almost died from a heart attack caused by intense shame, but anyway, from then on, our lives have been measured in years A.W.T—After Wrath of the Titans.

Scorpius' disease was something similar to Wrath Of The Titans. There had been a Before, when I hadn't even known him, and an after within that before, when I had known him but not of his disease. And now I was entering the After—an After in which the world seemed so strange and surreal, because nothing made much sense if Scorpius was dying all the same. Rose's death glares forced me to write my History essays, but I didn't really make an effort to scribble the few hundreds of words worth a T. Nor did I practise spells all afternoon long before the exams, or try to memorise the best diet for a mandrake. I could have fed little plant monsters very well if I had wanted to, but it was so pointless I didn't even try. Well-fed mandrakes weren't going to make a difference in anything.

I found out Rose had known, too—she had sensed trouble brewing ever since we first met him, and wheedled magiconecrosis out of Scorpius a few weeks after. Basically, everyone had known but me. The reason why was a complete mystery, and even though I tried to ignore the pain, it hurt. A lot. Everyone told me it had been because he really cared and didn't want to lose me and blah, blah, blah, but those comments just didn't work. 

Lately, nothing worked.

"Potter!" Professor Lidewij called, alarmed. "Your potion is boiling! Put it—"

Everyone screamed as a fuming geyser of Anima Essentia sprang from my caudron, dousing all the books and the quills and nearly burning my face to a crisp. As soon as the blueish liquid touched them, every object in the room grew a pair of little legs and started running around, some even screaming like crazy with a small mouth my potion had given them. Suddenly there were ten books throwing punchs each other and roaring while they tear their own pages in two, while a quill cried at a corner of the room and two hats chased after an ink bottle around the room. Fortunately for the hats' owners, the ink bottle was extremely fast.

Professor Lidewij flicked their wand and casted a Freezing Charm right before a drama-queen caudron jumped off the table, saving Jenny Harrison's face from being smashed by three kilos of heavy iron. When she emerged from under the table, her eyes gleamed faintly with tears. 

Disaster had only lasted for ten seconds maximum, but the class looked as if we had summoned a hurricane. Dozens of pages from the books' fights carpeted the floor, wet and sparkling with the remnants of my potion. The ink bottle, after a very courageous run, had tripped over an eroded tile and shattered, and now it looked like someone had shot it. When two of my classmates picked up their hats from the floor, we all saw one of them was ragged—it had probably stumbled upon one of the violent Potions manuals.

Had I made something explode, it would have been much more civilised.

"Albus Potter," Professor Lidewij started, but she couldn't say anything else. I suspected she didn't have any words. Nor did I. What had just happened was still something both incredible and horrible, and I didn't know how or why. I only knew I had messed up for good.

Silence was deafening. I wished someone coughed.

"I'm feeling a little dizzy, Professor," Scorpius said, breaking the tense silence. The twenty-seven pairs of eyes that had been looking daggers at me riveted on him. "May Albus walk me to the infirmary?"

Clearly Professor Lidewij didn't know what to do with me, because she nodded, to the disgust of many who wanted my head on a silver plate. "Yes, Mr Malfoy. Get him out of here, for Merlin's sake."

Scorpius grabbed my arm harshly, pulling when I didn't move. I just stared at the mess I'd made and wondered why on Earth couldn't I do something good for once. "Move," he said through gritted teeth, "because many people here are seconds away from hexing you."

Chester Merriweather's hand reached for his wand, and that was all it took for me to scurry out of the classroom. My steps echoed across the corridors of the dungeons as I rushed towards the infirmary. 

I tried to focus. Scorpius wasn't feeling alright, and even though the disaster I had just caused wasn't going to be something easy to make up for, he should be my priority. The sooner we got to Mrs Pomfrey's, the better. "Hurry up," I urged him, turning to check whether he was alright. "We need to—"

"What the wizards is wrong with you, Albus?" he cut me, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. He didn't let go and didn't move, so I stopped short. 

"Look, if you're feeling nauseated or something, I don't think we should—"

"I'm perfectly fine, Albus," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "You were the one who needed to get out of there. Half of the class looked ready to bite your arm, and honestly, I wouldn't blame them. What's going on? You've been alienated for the whole week, and you're worrying me."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Scorpius let go of me and dropped to a stone bench, then sighed and started wringing his hands, eyes fixed on them. He was the personification of anguish.

"Albus, I know where this all comes from. If it's because of my—"

"Don't," I stopped him. "Don't tell me you're alright, because it isn't true, and I'm sick of everyone lying to me."

"No one has lied to—"

"Don't lie to me, I said!" I yelled. Half of the castle must have heard me, but I didn't care anymore, couldn't care anymore, because I was seeing red and felt something hot and bubbling in the pit of my stomach, and all I could think of was that I needed to throw up everything that had been building inside of me for the whole week. "Everyone lied to me, _you all_ lied to me. Everyone knew everything but me, Scorpius, but no one told me a thing, and you still dare say no one lied to me? They were all very honest about my best friend dying, right? They all thought I might actually care whether you're alright or not, and they were kind enough to tell me, 'Hey, maybe he's dying, so you may want to watch out'. They all did that, sure, right? Because _no one bloody lied to me_!"

Scorpius sniffed, but he still wouldn't meet my eyes. And I wanted to go on and definitely explode and tell him everything that was on my mind, but then a single tear dropped to his fingers and my anger crumbled like a castle of sand hit by a wave, and the sea took away everything but the foundation, what everything had built up on. Worry. Fear. Mixed feelings, but mostly dread.

"I... Look, Albus, I'm sorry that... I... I didn't... I just—" Scorpius', shaky voice sounded choked. Tears were gripping his throat, and it was my fault.

Just what kind of horrible person was I?

"Merlin, I was so wrong," he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorrysorrysorrysorry..."

"Sorry for what?" The bubble of my rage had burst when his tear had pricked it with a needle, and now I just felt empty and tired, very tired. Of being so selfish, of worrying, of swinging from anger to devastation to fear to anger again in less than a minute. I sat besides him and put a hand over his, unsure on what would make him feel better. "Scorpius, I never..."

"No," he interrupted me, "you're right. I didn't tell you when everyone else had whether guessed it or found out, and it wasn't fair for you. I just... Merlin, sweet Merlin," he sobbed, clenching his tangled fingers until every knuckle was a ghostly white. 

"Scorpius, stop," I begged him. Things were even wronger now, him crying and me unable to do anything. As usual.

"I'm tired, Albus," he mumbled between hiccups. "I'm so tired... Please, make this stop. Make it all stop." He rested his head on my shoulder, face against the rough fabric of my tunic. I felt it soak, but didn't mind it much. All I could think of was how could I possibly make everything better, if not right, then at least acceptable or less wrong. It was easier to focus on how to fix Scorpius than on how to fix the pieces of me.

We spent a few minutes like that, in silence, until he calmed down and eventually stopped shaking. After a while it occured to ma that maybe he had fallen asleep, but then he rose his head, rubbing his eyes. When he put his hands down, they looked dull and plain, not amazing and shiny like coins anymore. The eyes of a very tired boy.

"Sorry that I didn't tell you right away," he repeated. "I just... You being my friend felt so awesome and impossible, I feared you'd go away if I told you. Instead of letting you know the truth, I just lied and lied and lied and... Merlin, I'm horrible." Sob. "I fooled you into believing I was healthy and fine. And I know it sounds vain and fake and that I have no right to beg your understanding, much less your pardon, but the only reason I can give you for what I did is that I was so afraid. Everyone else was much less sparkling than you, much less important, so why did it matter if they knew and rejected me? As long as you stood by me, everything would work out. Even Rose could go away, and if you were still with me, I would be able to deal with it." As he spoke, I notice he wasn't talking about the past anymore. His perfect grammar didn't allow any misunderstanding on that matter, and neither did his tone. "But then, at Salazar's, when I was about to have the attack, all of that came down like a castle of cards. You were about to find out the worst way possible, and I couldn't really be there to explain and apologise because my body was too busy giving a spectacle and trying to kill itself. Albus, I'm so sorry for... For everything..."

"Scorpius," I called in a whisper, squeezing his shoulder. "You don't have to be sorry for anything. Look, if you hid it for me, then I know you had your reasons. Good ones, even if I can't quite grasp them. So maybe it'll take me some time to come around, but please don't think of it as your fault."

The period was about to end, judging from the chatter that arose behind every door of the dungeons. Two Hufflepuffs exited their classroom, slowing down on their way to look at us as if we had seven heads and a tail each. For once, I chose to ignore them. I couldn't shake the feeling that they were judging me for a thousand things, but my friend was more important than what any dimwit could think. 

"Your Anima Essentia didn't work because it was too hot," Scorpius mumbled. "I'm just the same. I'm a bubbling caudron of acid, and when I explode, I want to bathe as little people as possible."

"But—"

He raised a hand to stop me. Every vein was visible against his smooth skin, like charcoal seams. "As little people as possible," he repeated, "but still, I'm selfish. I'm very, very selfish, Albus, you can't imagine how much."

"Look, you're talking to the boy who has spent twelve years and a half of his life self-pitying for having a famous family. I'm the master of all kinds of selfishness, and trust me, you're my complete opposite."

Even though he was visibly making an effort to say what he truly felt like out loud, that made him laugh. After what had felt like an eternity of tears even though we had only been in the corridor for around five minutes, it was something refreshing.

"Master of all kinds of selfishness? Good one," he congratulated me. "Anyway, I was trying to say something very felt and sincere, so please hold your tongue for a little while." Giving me a death glare when I opened my mouth, he cleared his throat before going on. "I'm very selfish, and I'm also a chicken, because I don't want to face this alone. And I know we're only dust and a 65 per cent of water, and that death is unavoidable and we're all doomed, but I still don't want to die just yet. I want to make more than dust and water, see what this world has to offer and try to give something back. But I'm afraid the dying part is not in my hands, and I'm running very, very short on time. So..."

Hesitatingly, he stopped and looked away from his hands, at the end of the corridor, where a furious flood of students was about to break loose. 

"So?" I asked. After such a speech, I wasn't going to be left with a 'To be continued'. I should have been very moved and touched and ready to marry him or whatever after his words, but the truth was, the only thing I wanted right then was to hear the end of his talk. Master of all kinds of selfishness, remember?

"So please," he murmured in a husk, all bravery gone, "stand by me as long as you can. Clingy? Yes.  You can go away anytime you like, and if it's too much, then I'll more than understand, but I'm desperate enough to try asking this from you."

"Is that it?"

I know, I know. One does not simply listen to such an elaborate friendship request and answer 'Is that it'. 

"What?"

"I just want to make sure your amazing speech is over, so that you won't interrupt mine."

Scorpius blinked. "Oh." He ducked his head, the rebel fringe falling over his eyes, but I still could see his odd grimace. "Yes, sure."

"Right, thank you. So you've said you're running very short on time, and that you want to see what the world has to offer, and then sort of asked me out to—"

"I didn't ask you out," he interrupted me, frowning. "At least, not while I was conscious."

"Oh, don't get picky with my word choice," I complained. "You know I meant 'ask out' as in buddies, not as in any romantic trash. Sorry to ruin all your fantasies."

"In fact," he answered, "I think my fantasies are much better after we checked nothing weird's going on."

"Wait, which fantasies?"

"Secret ones. Now shush it and finish talking. I'm hungry."

"We can also skip to the eating part without my speech," I quickly said. "Really, I'm not going to say anything remarkable." And I really wasn't, but then he looked at me with the best puppy eyes I've ever been looked at with and, well, I couldn't turn down the opportunity to see whether I could make up something epic just for the sake of making him feel a little more alive and a little less scared. "Alright, alright. So you asked me to stand by you as long as I could, but that's a tricky question, because you already know I'll be around bugging you until you send me packing. You have a very distorted image of yourself, Scorpius. Being by your side isn't any kind of horrible sacrifice, and even if it will hurt like hell later, the pain is completely worth it. So yes, I'll stand by you and watch you discover all the wonders of this world and etcetera, etcetera, but before we get to that part I'd like to have some spaghetti because I'm going to faint otherwise."

Scorpius opened his mouth to say something, but then flocks of bored students started crawling out of every classroom as the teachers finished their lessons. Most of them, bless every lonely neuron inside their heads, were screaming at each other to make themselves hear over the rest's shouts, so whatever he was going to say was buried forever under an avalanche of blabber and giggles.

Thank Merlin, we didn't bring up the subject again after that. It wasn't something I liked talking about, Scorpius' upcoming death and the complicated feelings boiling up inside of his scrawny body. I didn't know how to. As the Master of all kinds of selfishness, I didn't really know how to make things alright for other people, and the many years spent complaining and self-pitying revulsed me now that I saw them in perspective. Maybe if I hadn't been so busy paying attention to myself and only to myself, I would have learned some empathy skills. 

But maybe thinking that kind of things was more self-pitying, and maybe, just maybe, it was time to grow up and face the music. I wasn't the best friend Scorpius could have asked for, true, but he had chosen me for some reason and I'd have to do. How? I had no idea. But somehow, I would work it out. Even if it took me years, even if it costed me blood, sweat and tears, I was going to make everything alright for him. And maybe the price would be too high for me, maybe I'd shatter after he died into so many pieces, I would never be complete again. Maybe I was about to jump into something too big for me. 

The least I could do was leaping head first.

 

"Today's meeting has a very special reason why," Teddy announced, pacing from one side of the empty Transformations clasroom to the other. "Who wants to venture a guess?"

"Amaze us," Jesper said, peering through the window. Sixth-years were busy already with exams, and Wylan was at the Ravenclaw common room preparing his exams. His absence made Jesper whingeing and grouch, something I didn't quite understand but was already getting annoyed about.

"With gusto," Teddy answered, sitting on the teacher's table cross-legged. "We've gathered here this rainy day of October, dear Goblins, because of blood supremacy—or better, because of blood supremacists. Apparently, two Ravenclaw airheads go around hating on Muggleborn wizards, who surprisingly always happen to be first or second years."

"I know who they are," Scorpius said. "The Sangbleu twins, right?"

"Very well," Teddy congratulated him. "The Sangbleu stupwins. Their parents are a little to blame, if I may say so. _Blue blood..._ Who the hell invented those surnames? Anyway, we're here today because, as the Hogwarts Avengers—"

"But I thought we were the Goblins," Petra pointed out, tapping on the table.

"—also known as the Goblins, thanks, Petra, we can't allow them to thing they have a saying on anyone's blood."

"He knows French?" Scorpius whispered to me, curious. We were the only ones cross-legged on the floor, as Rose was too much of a lady and had rather sit on a chair. Not even five minutes had passed and the cold stone was already making me regret it—next time, I was joining Rose. 

"Kind of. Victoire is teaching him, although the only thing about the land of cheese she's helped him master so far is the snogging."

"I'm a very good kisser, indeed," Teddy chimed in, pursing his lips like an excessively-loving grandma, "and you can check it anytime you like, Albus, _mon chère_. Getting back to the point, our Wylan isn't here today, as Jes seems to have noticed, but he helped me adjust every detail of today's revenge."

Without bothering to look away from the window, Jesper gave him the finger. 

"Thanks, Jes.  Now, Neis, were you able to get the Pimpwinkle legs?" My cousin nodded when Neis showed him a pot containing what looked like blue asparagus. "Great. Albus, I hope you're in the potion-making mood today, because we're brewing a little juice for our friends the Sangbleus."

Rose arched her eyebrows, with an odd grin plastered on her face. Any other person would have worried that she might be constipated, but I knew she was actually trying not to burst into laughter. Whether it was polite or a major insult, I couldn't say.

"Erm, yeah, 'course." Chewing on my lower lip with such strength my mouth started tasting as if I had licked a sickle, I looked at Scorpius, quietly pleading for help. No more potions for Albus today, please.

"Would it be any trouble if I cooked the potion?" Rose asked, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. "My Alihotsy Draught was specially good today. I'm feeling confident."

Bless Rose a million times. Teddy raised an eyebrow, but nodded nonetheless. "As long as it keeps those two locked in the bathroom for an hour at least, all yours, Rosie. Albus, help her out anyway. The better, the... Well, the better. Scorpius, I need your brains with me. If Rose's dropping out of scheming to remove liquids with a spoon, you're not optional. Jes, I know you're down in the dumps today, but please stare at nowhere later. We need Elise and you to track the Sangbleus and check whether they'll be at their common room tonight. Maybe the fact that they're from Ravenclaw puts you in the right mood."

Jesper's eyes opened wide as he grinned with his usual cheekiness. "Aye, sir," he barked with an evil smile. I felt sorry for Wylan's marks. "Elise, move it, honey. We got some business to do."

As the two of them left the room, Jesper murmuring something definitely wicked into Elise's ear, Neis gave me the pot with the Pimpsomething legs. "Make it good," he told me, bumping his fist against mine. 

"Scorpius told me you almost melted half of the classroom at Potions," Rose casually said as we started pouring ingredients into the caudron. The flask with armadillo bile almost slipped from between my fingers, which would have left us without potion and with a very annoyed Teddy. He somehow sensed what had almost happened, because he shouted at me without even turning.

"You're paying for that if it breaks! Do you know how difficult it was to nick it from Lidewij's?"

"Sorry," I apologised before looking at Rose again. "Well, yeah, I was a tad distracted today. Anyway, I'd rather not brew anything else today, so thanks for volunteering. We may have ended at Mrs Pomfrey's with three horns."

She laughed as the potion started bubbling with a flick of her wand. "Thank Merlin I'm here, then." The potion stank like rotten chilli, and she rubbed her eyes with the sleeve. "Atchoo! I guedz diz meanz we'de doin it pddopedly. Ddanks, Adbus." Grabbing the handkerchief I offered her, she turned to blow her nose. Trumpets at militar events were less audible. "So, anyway, I wanted to check whether you're alright."

"Me? Yeah, sure."

Rose looked at me sideways, both hands wrapped tightly around the spoon to remove the dense potion, but didn't press me any further. "Hey," she began, "can you please do something else than staring and help me with this? You're a horrible helper."

I fumbled for a second spoon among the Goblins' homemade potions kit and joined her. "Please, I'm the best helper you've had."

"Because I've had none but you to the date."

"Exactly."

 

In the end, the Sangbleus spent three hours in a row in the bathroom, then six in the infirmary after our potion casually turned their faces into a pretty accurate map of what Jesper baptised as 'The Sebaceous Andes'. His arm looped around Wylan's as the latter revised his notes for the last time before bed, he was on cloud nine. Give Jesper a good revenge, Explosive Snap and a sleepy Wylan and boom, you got an elated Jesper.

Even though no one from the Goblins admitted anything in public, everyone patted our backs and congratulated Teddy—even McGonagall smiled to him when they crossed. The Sangbleu twins were even less appreciated than I thought.

"I could do with a few more pranks like this," Scorpius laughed at our next meeting, when Teddy told us how nearly every teacher had joked about not healing the brothers.

"Of course you could," my cousin said, smiling proudly. "That's why you're an official Goblin. Stand up, Mr Malfoy, you're pledging our loyalty to us today."

Dumbfounded, Scorpius opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water before getting up, patting his trousers. The rest of us cheered and clapped as Teddy Accio-ed a piece of parchment and cleared his throat dramatically.

"We, the Goblins, take you, Scorpius whatever-the-H-stands-up-for Malfoy, to be our partner in crime for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, before, after and during the exam weeks, till life do us part. Friends," he went on, turning on his heels slightly to face his audience, "I take this my friend Scorpius to be our new minion, promising to be the baddest influence upon him so long as we both at Hogwarts shall live and prank. If anyone objects to this recruitment, speak now or forever hold your peace."

"Um... Thanks, I guess? That was the best rip-off ever," Scorpius nervously laughed, rubbing his palms against his trousers as he looked at us. 

"Welcome to the family, Scor!" Jesper howled. Everyone started clapping ethusiastically, and Scorpius bowed once and twice and again and again, redder each time he stood straight.

"We're _so_ going to have fun," Elise said. "Congrats, boy. You've officially joined the best group ever."

"I can't study if you're this noisy," Wylan moaned. 

"Shut it, Wyl, we got a rookie for the first time in two years," Jesper playfully answered, elbowing him. "Or better, don't. I'll shut you with pleasure."

After everyone congratulated Scorpius, who looked as if he were to whether throw up or jump, Teddy sorted sweets and drinks out of nowhere, causing another round of claps and cheers. So Scorpius' first night as a Goblin went, wild and happy.

 

Hours later, the whole Slytherin second year woke up as it had a year ago, to screams.

Only, this time they weren't mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phewww—sooo here we are again! I'm REALLY SORRY that I didn't publish anything last week. Everything has been crazy lately, and there are so many things going on in my life, plus the exam weeks, that I haven't been able to find a moment to relax and write. But it isn't your fault and you shouldn't be suffering the consequences, so yeah :( To make up for it, I've written a special bonus for you guys which I hope you'll like... Kisses and many, many apologies! (BTW please pray for my Chemistry exam x$)


	20. Chapter 20

"Can I see him?"

Mrs Malfoy looked up from the plastic cup of tea she held between her hands, which had stopped fuming long ago. No red lips stained its white borders. She hadn't taken even one sip.

"Albus," she murmured, eyes wide open. It was as if she had just realised I was there, which she probably had. "Hello. How are you?"

"Fine," I lied. "How's Scorpius doing? Can I see him?"

Her gaze returned to the cold tea. "He's... He's okay now," she whispered, so low I could barely guess the words. "Doctors say it was only a particulary strong attack. Draco is inside with him. And he's going to be alright." 

A single tear dropped from her eyelashes to the drink.

"He's going to be alright," she repeated.

Everything was so wrong. Scorpius' mother was completely out of place sitting on one of St Mungo's rigid plastic chairs, her high heels and cherry lips rather belonging to a catwalk than to the hospital's second floor's deserted waiting room. She should be at home, sleeping, dreaming of happy things. Not waiting for a stranger in a white coat to tell her whether her son would make it to the next dawn or not.

"He is," I confirmed, staring at my feet.

I myself didn't look any better than her, my creased shirt buttoned terribly and each sock of a different colour. Despite my attempts at looking moreless acceptable, my image reflected the wreck I was inside. It wasn't because of the dark circles under my eyes or the messy mane framing my face, nor because of my crouched posture. It was because all the pieces I was made up of were screaming 'NOT OKAY', and when I stared at the glass doors to our right, a mess stared back at me. With the eyes of a tired man, rather than a twelve-year-old.

How must it be for his parents? If one attack left me feeling this broken, how must Mr and Mrs Malfoy feel after twelve years' worth of magiconecrosis?

"Listen, ma'am, I'm... I would like to see him, would that be alright?"

Absent-minded, Mrs Malfoy didn't reply, neither did she move. She just stared at her tea and drew in unsteady, quivering breaths. 

Right when the situation was growing too unbearable, door 117 opened and a shattered Mr Malfoy stepped out of the room, looking as if he had just fought a horrible war. And he had. Just not a physical one. "Love, he's alright," he told Mrs Malfoy. "He's just a little pained, that's all. Our little boy is alright." 

He sat besides her, looping an arm over her shoulders, and squeezed her against him. 

"Hello, young Potter," he said after a while, kissing his wife's temple. "Scor is conscious now. He... He wants to see you, if you don't mind."

Before he finished the sentence, I had already jumped to my feet and reached out for the doorknob, anxious to... To what? To check whether he was still alive? To see him breathing to convince myself that he would get through this? To what, exactly? 

"Of course, sir," I stuttered, pulling my shirt in a desperate attempt to smooth the creases. "I... Thanks. Thank you."

Mr Malfoy nodded, letting out a very slow sigh. "Welcome, Pot... Albus. He..." Unable to find the words, he gulped before going on. "Thank you for staying. For being his friend. You don't know how much it means."

Everyone insisted on either thanking me for being Scorpius' friend or encouraging me to remain so, as if it were something heroic or amazing or difficult or disgusting. But it wasn't any kind of sacrifice. I thought of the story he had told me back at Salazar's Pit, about Orion the Hunter. Scorpius was like the constellation and the stars all at once. Everyone mistook him for something he wasn't, because no one saw him fully at first sight. Even he mistook himself for a burden, because he didn't see what he gave in return.

And I was having too deep and philosophic thoughts at half-past three AM at a ghost waiting room, so I shook it off and entered Scorpius' room.

The walls were painted in a nauseating green, which I guessed was supposed to calm people down but made me feel like throwing up instead. An enormous portrait of a nurse watched over my friend from the opposite wall, scowling severely at me when I entered the room. "No loud noises or ludicrous activities, youngling," she warned me, hoisting a deadly-looking thermometer.

"Hey," Scorpius faintly murmured, buried under a thousand blankets _and_ a flower-patterned bedsheet.

"Hey," I replied, closing the door carefully before walking to his bed and kneeling besides. "You look like dragon poo."

He managed a sheepish grin. "What would I do... Without you to lift—cough—my spirits?"

"Terrible things. Such as befriending some family enemy's son."

"Oh, dear! Thank Merlin you're here to—cough—prevent me from going down the wrong path."

Scorpius wriggled under the covers, which rustled as he struggled to find a comfortable position. He looked terrible, to be honest. His blond hair was wet with sweat and stuck to his forehead, all blood and life gone from his face, eyes dull and even a bit clouded. And even if he had told his father he was alright and he had bought it, he couldn't fool me—he felt just as bad as he seemed to. He opened his mouth to talk, but must have seen something in my expression, because he closed it shortly after without saying a thing.

"We're making late-night pains a thing, right?" he muttered after a long silence, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. The pile of blankets curved slightly as his lungs pulled their poo together and did their job.

Even though it was a very poor attempt at joking, I smiled. "Yeah, but don't get too excited. You still haven't beaten my Occupacy."

"Shut up, I'm trying."

From her painting, the nurse made a fierce stabbing gesture with the thermometer. 

"You know, I've been in this room before," he murmured after a while, eyes still closed. "One-one-seven. The one with the picture of a dragon skeleten laying on a field while children run and play and jump around. When I was seven, I decided 'Funky Bones' sounded like such an amazing title for it. Left wall, above the nightstand. See it?"

Rubbing my knees, which hurt from the awkward position, I turned my head and looked for Funky Bones. "Yeah," I said when I spotted it. "Merlin, the sky is way too blue. It visually hurts."

"My niece painted that, youngling," grumbled Mrs Casiopea the nurse. "If I were you, I would be more careful with what came out of my little mouth."

Thank Merlin her thermometer was just a few strokes of the paint brush.

"When I was little," Scorpius went on, interrupting us, "I used to imagine myself as one of the children. To be precise, the one sitting inbetween his eyes."

I inspected the picture with a critical eye. "You pulling my leg? He's three kilometres taller than you."

Scorpius let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, he is." Cough. "Now I imagine myself as the bones," he suddenly added. He was staring at me, with an expression that made him look infinitely older, wiser and tired. The bags under his eyes could compete with mine. 

"Sweetheart, I do not think..." Mrs Casiopea the nurse began.

"I won't lie to anyone else," he mumbled. "I'm getting worse, and there's no possible fix. The doctor told me I can't do magic anymore. Not even a small Accio. No more wand for me."

Oh, Scorpius. 

"You..."

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, his tone shaky and strangled. "Please, Albus, would you mind telling me a story?"

He wasn't looking at me anymore. Instead, his eyes were lost in the distance on the other side of the window. Maybe he was looking for a constellation, or maybe he was just looking at the infinite to make his finitude seem less sad. Whatever it was, he was the true image of loneliness. It was as if his bed were a deserted island surrounded by sharks, and I, a swimmer watching all the sharp fins sticking out of the sea from a certain distance, able to spot my friend but not to reach him.

A story. A story, a story, a story...

"Long ago," I began, standing up—my knees screamed at the movement—to sit on the bed, "a drop of sunlight became a golden flower capable of healing illness..."

Okay, wrong story.

"No, no," he whispered, his breathing already steadying when I stopped. "Go ahead. I want to hear it."

"Really?" I crossed my ankles and stared at Funky Bones. "For centuries, a witch called Gothel used the flower to remain young and beautiful, until the royal army of a kingdom called Corona took it away to heal their very ill queen. Not very long after she recovered from her sickness, the queen gave birth to a beautiful girl, whom the monarchs named Rapunzel..."

Scorpius fell asleep right before Rapunzel and Flynn entered the pub in the middle of nowhere.

 

He had woken up screaming, unable to move anything but his vocal chords. It took everyone a while to react, and then even longer to move their lazy asses and help out. Scorpius, meanwhile, lay on his bed tossing and turning in agony, bleeding because he bit his tongue with one of the spasms. Teachers wouldn't arrive, people wouldn't do anything besides complaining that he was being very loud, and I would hold his hand and try to calm him down, but he would just tense and relax and tense and relax and tense and relax while wave after wave of pain hit his scrawny body and doused him in suffering. 

When she finally arrived, Mrs Pomfrey couldn't do anything, either, so we figured out that St Mungo's was the only option—and while she woke Professor McGonagall for her to Apparate at the hospital, I didn't let go of Scorpius hand, afraid that he may get worse if I didn't hold onto him and forced him to stay with me. He clutched it so tight it felt as if it were to break, but it didn't even cross my mind to let go. It wasn't until Mrs Lancaster had told the Malfoys and took us to St Mungo's—as I refused point-blank to leave his side—, until he was in good hands, that I allowed myself to relax my grip and let the doctors take care of him.

Mr and Mrs Malfoy had arrived very shortly after, both having visibly primped in a rush to get to their son as soon as possible. He immediately entered room 117, full of wizards trying to save Scorpius' life, while his wife sat outside crying. Mrs Malfoy had wanted to help out as well, but given her emotional state, Mr Malfoy had kissed her cheek before helping her sit on the most uncomfortable chair of the hospital and getting inside Scorpius' room.

And now, only now, I realised that it was nearly four AM and I was at a hospital watching over the fragile boy that had become my best friend in roughly a year, and even though I had been stripped off sleep in the middle of an amazing dream and I would be struggling to keep my eyes open during the day that was to dawn—not to mention the fact that my parents were _so_ going to kill me—, I wasn't worried the least bit about what the consequences may be. I could only think of Scorpius' pained face and how he had looked as if he were on the verge of crumbling.

Every beat filled my veins with a new dose of worry and sadness, and I couldn't help but wonder if it would always be like this. If this was what I'd gotten into so carelessly, and if I was strong enough to endure it.

But then I looked at Scorpius' troubled face, even asleep. And I found out that yes, I was strong enough. And if I wasn't, then well, I would have to, because leaving wasn't an option. It hadn't been an option ever since September the 1st, 2017. 

 

Scorpius turned thirteen a week later, and he was honestly the worst birthday boy ever. He had been allowed to go home the next morning, and thrown a huge tantrum until his parents let him return to Hogwarts with the condition that he wouldn't even approach a wand, but he had to drop out again a few days after because his kidney had begun to rot, most of the cells dead after fighting so long against each other. So he completed his thirteenth revolution around the Sun under an avalanche of blankets at St Mungo's, in the blackest mood I had ever seen him in.

"Lucky number," he mumbled as soon as I entered his room with a bouquet of lollipops Teddy had bought for me at Hogsmeade. "Perfect to die. Dramatic irony, wouldn't it be?"

"Well, happy birthday," I snorted, "good to see that you're so thrilled about turning thirteen."

"And what's it worth, anyway? My Merlinforsaken kidney won't work, and I have to sit here and wait for some lab-coated guy to come in and fix it with a flick of the wand, even though we all know it's temporary and sucks things up even worse."

See what I mean?

"Quite the life of the party, aren't you," I murmured, setting the bouquet aside. None of us were in the mood for lollipops. "Scorpius, what happens?"

He let out a bitter laughter.

" _What happens_? What do you think happens, Albus? I'm a waste of oxygen right now, and no one leaves me alone. Has it ever occured to any of you that I might not want to go on with all this bloody thing? Maybe I just want to REST IN FORSAKEN PEACE."

His mother entered the room the very same moment an empty pot decorated poorly shattered against the wall. "What has just—Scorpius!"

While Mrs Malfoy gave him the mother of all talks, Scorpius just stared at the wall and said nothing, looking like a lifeless real-size dummy of himself. Even after the disaster was cleaned and forgiven, he didn't look away from the ugly green, nor did he apologise. I had to exit the room shortly after, as his family were coming to visit and celebraty his birthday and I was definitely a persona non grata, and he didn't even say goodbye. He just stared at the wall and let himself draw away from the world, drifting alone. 

The island seemed farer and farer each day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn high school is getting SO difficult to keep up with, and my grades are playing SO hard to get, and life is getting SO tiresome. (Still, and although it's half a month late, I really hope you're still there to enjoy the chapter. Because honestly, if even this fails me, I'm going to throw myself off the third floor.)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> READ THE END NOTES, PLEASE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick random thing: I just read on the Harry Potter Wikia that Rose is supposed to be a horrible person lol like why make her a disgusting character, she has so much potential

A typical day with sick and stubborn Scorpius:

Every morning, he reached for his wand on the night stand as soon as he opened his eyes, and every morning, the room seemed to be engulfed by gloom when he remembered he couldn't use it anymore. Doing magic sped up the magiconecrosis, so when his parents allowed him to return to Hogwarts, after a whole week of arguments and a hunger strike, they took the wand from him.

We walked to every class together about fifteen minutes before it was officially compulsory to be sitting on the wooden benches, just in case he felt ill and needed to rest or go to the infirmary. In some classes, specially Charms and Transformations, he couldn't do much more than watching as we turned beetles into pencils, and after a short while, he stopped showing up for McGonagall and Queenheartley's lessons. Instead, he spent those hours in the library, studying the theory the rest of us were putting into practice above his head or preparing whichever subject came next.

Me? I tried to pay attention during the classes, but I always ended up doodling on the parchment as I tried to figure out a way to fix things. I was no doctor and no brilliant wizard—not even a so-so one—, but there must be something I could do... Right? Night after night, I devoured ancient books on magical diseases and coutless manuals on wizarding medicine, but the only useful thing I learnt from them was how to tell whether a Snoezel had nestled under my bed or not. I could now distinguish a common chickenpox from an allergy to Snoezels, but that was it—my medical knowledge didn't stretch any further. Apparently, no one had bothered much investigating magiconecrosis.

And Rose? Sweet, worried, divine Rose was having an even harder time. As much pride as she took in her knowledge, being unable to offer any solution was killing her. She would spend hours and hours in the library with me, flipping through the pages of all the books I didn't have the time or the linguistical skills to read, but she didn't find anything useful, either. We both learnt more from watching Scorpius than from the manuals. She would take her scarce notes on magiconecrosis and study them while eating lunch with us every day, immune to some of our classmates' scornful looks—coff, Rory MacPherson, coff. Mind you, I caught quite a flu during a Quidditch match.

As I was saying, she also tried to bring up heated debates like in old times, on such topics as 'Browen the Brave: Misunderstood Hero Or Cheeky Cheater?', but soon enough realised that Scorpius wasn't on the mood anymore. Once the most epic historical debates Hogwarts had ever witnessed, their conversations turned into Scorpius mumbling monosyllabic answers to Rose's efforts to make it work while he rolled a chickpea back an forth with the fork. My cousin didn't openly react to the sudden change, but I could sense the tears in her eyes and the clench in her heart, because I felt them, too. Every joke he didn't make, every star he didn't look at, every story he didn't tell..., everything that made him be Scorpius Malfoy and that was slowly fading scarred the three of us. Even if we hadn't meant to, even if we hadn't noticed, we had become too close ever since we met. Now we were beginning to realise the cost it came at.

"How are you feeling?" Rose asked one Sunday, munching on her chips.

We were alone at the Great Hall. Everyone was either sleeping already or on a last-hour marathon to study everything they hadn't looked at twice during the weekend, and we were the only ones sitting at the large Slytherin table. The others were empty, too. We should've been downstairs, sleeping soundly, but Scorpius had insisted on having dinner at the Hall despite the late hour. Despite the tiredness he dragged every time he came back from his house, shattered after a weekend of agressive treatments and medicines.

Scorpius raised his gaze from the asparagus on his plate to eye her, then looked away.

"Grand," he said. "And you?"

"Good," she answered, unable to hold her smile. Even though I had told myself to be careful and watch every emotion, scan for possible hidden feelings or pains, I couldn't help a grin, either. "What did you do last night?"

"I slept quite a lot." Scorpius stopped to sip his glass of water, then cut a transparent slice of asparagus and ate it. "I'm so tired all the time."

Biting her lip, Rose gave me a sideways look. "Well..." she began.

Uh-oh. I knew what was coming.

_Please, Rose, don't._

"Maybe if you—you know, take some days off..."

Scorpius closed his fist around the knife, knuckles white and cheeks bright red. I put a hand on his shoulder, partly to support him, partly ready to jump into action if he showed any sign of an attack. His scrawny body quivered slightly. From emotion or from something different and far worse, I couldn't tell.

"Rose," he began slowly, "I'm not going to take any days off."

"Look, I just—"

" _I'm not going to take any days off,_ " he cut her off, stressing every syllable. For the first time in two weeks, he raised his chin and pierced Rose's eyes with his. There was a boiling rage in them. Hurt pride. But also helplessness and desperation. If I didn't back up my cousin, it was because I had already seen all of that when he begged his parents for the chance to stay in the castle. Because I knew that, if we forced him away from Hogwarts, maybe he'd die from sadness. "I think you didn't hear me, Rose."

"But you're not alright!" she cried, slamming both hands against the table as she stood. "We all know that, but what we don't know is the reason why you're being so stubborn and selfish! Don't you see that we're suffering, too? Every second you spend here is a precious second that might have saved you once and for all, were you at St Mungo's. But you rather waste your time here, even if it's useless and only makes you cranky and us worried to death that you might... You..."

She stopped to rub her eyes with the sleeve of the shirt. Without her tunique, which she hadn't bothered putting on that morning, Rose looked tinier. Less menacing, less like the powerful and brilliant-minded witch we knew, and more like the twelve-year-old girl she was.

I wanted to stand up and side her. I wanted to force Scorpius into St Mungo's. I wanted everything to be alright, and I wanted things to have a happy ending, as if we were in a tale like those Mum read to us every night when we were little. But, unfortunately, we weren't. Real life didn't guarantee anything to anyone, much less to three kids with no idea whatsoever about anything beyond a few spells and some general knowledge on screaming plants and historical gossip. If anything, she handed you the cards she felt like, and expected you to know what to do with them. I didn't know my hand yet, much less Scorpius' or Rose's, but I knew trying to change it was useless. I couldn't make Scorpius' decisions, even if I was dying to because he was being suicidal. All I could do was stand by and take his hand, in case he tripped and no one else moved a finger to help.

"Rose..." I began. She shook her head, a hurricane of ginger curls.

"No, Al. It's too much. I officially can't do this anymore." She rolled up her sleeves to show an intrincate labyrinth of ink on her forearms. Narrowing my eyes, I made out some words: _mandrake Augustus Lovegood battles._

I shivered. "Oh, Rose..."

So that was why she had such dark bags under her eyes. Not because she had stayed awake studying, but because she had stayed awake looking for a way to reach Scorpius.

"No," she repeated. "I don't want your pity. Save it for whoever really needs it. I'm done with this, so you can take the steering wheel. You're the only one he seems to tolerate lately—the stage is all yours." She stopped a second and closed her eyes, her shoulders giving in to the weight of reality. "But I still don't get it, Albus. I thought... I thought you wouldn't want him to throw it all away. I thought you had some common sense. All those hours in the library... I thought you were on my side."

"And what do you expect me to do?" I shouted. Anger boiled in the pitch of my stomach, but I forced myself to swallow its bitter taste and measure my words. My voice echoed across the Great Hall. "Look, Rose, I know what you think of this, but what do you want me to do? Force him into a tiny room where he'll be caged all day, unable to take a step without three nurses hurrying to spell him asleep? Get angry because he wants to be a normal wizard? Stop talking to him until he does as _we_ fancy? What, exactly, do you want me to do?"

"For Merlin's sake, Al, you're his _friend_! You're supposed to look after him, not after his whims!" Rose hugged herself. She looked lonely and scared, and I ached to tell her we would be alright, just like when we were kids. Every inch of me wanted to give up and crumble and cry besides her, and find comfort in her logic and her intelligence while she solaced in my deep idiocy and dimwits, but I just couldn't. Not without destroying Scorpius' already fragile heart.

Both were drowning and needed me, but I knew I couldn't save both. There was only one lifesaver left. And I also knew who didn't know how to swim.

"Rose, you're my _family_ and I love you," I whispered, stepping forward. She turned away when I reached for her hand. "But he _needs me_. Merlin, Rose, there's no one else. No one that will stand up for him when everyone tries to have a say in what the last lines of his story should be. Do you... Do you understand? _He needs me, Rose_. Even if it's for his whims."

Her blue eyes lost their shine as they teared up. She stomped away from us, and ran for the stairs. Every footstep echoed across the Great Hall, like the screams of her bleeding heart.

Silence befell us.

Scorpius, unsurprisingly, was the one to break it.

"What kind of horrible person am I?" he muttered faintly. He quietened for a second before throwing the fork at the wall with all his strength. A metallic 'clank' ringed when it fell to the floor. "I made Rose cry. You two don't sleep because of me. My parents are dead worried. JUST WHAT KIND OF HORRIBLE PERSON AM I, ALBUS?"

"Scorpius, you—"

"DON'T TELL ME I'M NOT A HORRIBLE PERSON, ALBUS POTTER."

The plate followed the fork, then the glass and the knife and the spoon, and then we were both crying on our knees.

"I just want it to be over," he stammered, rubbing his eyes with the sleeves of his tunique. "Merlin, I just want everything to stop hurting. I want to stop losing all my friends, and I want to stop worrying everybody, and I want to stop being sick even if it means I'll be gone. Rose has all the right to hate me."

"Well," I stuttered as well, "I want you to stop feeling like you owe something to the rest of the world, and I want you to stop putting other people's wants and needs before your own, and I want you to stop complaining that you're a pain and a burden because you're not and it's tiring me."

"Albus, I'm so—"

"Say that you're sorry," I hicupped, "and I will personally kill you.

"Look, Scorpius, it's very simple. Rose and I want to stand by you, but she can't stand the sight of you here, because it means you're away from the place where experts could save your life." I stopped to blow my nose with a handkerchief. "She doesn't hate you, nor do I. We're just worried, okay? You just have to get well, and she'll come around. We all will. You won't lose any more friends, yes? You won't lose me, for instance."

A small, short-legged humanoid creature snapped its fingers and the remnants of Scorpius' burst of anger vanished, which was the only reason why we even noticed its presence. It disappeared immediately too. Somehow it broke the moments, because a milimoment after it was gone we had already broken into hysterical laughter. Feelings are a weird thing.

"My masterpiece," Scorpius managed to say between guffaw and guffaw. "It's gone!"

"Heck," I panted, "I was planning on auctioning it in the black market."

"What?"

"A mythical place of an ancient power."

That made _me_ crack up again, and it took a whole three minutes to calm down again.

"Okay, alright, alright. I'm cool. I'm fine," I said, fanning myself with my hands.

"You know you're not," he pointed out, gasping.

We spent a long time like that, laughing and getting a hold of ourselves and bursting into laughter again, and in that moment, I swear, we were free.

"You should give up on me, Al, I'm telling you," he said softly when our bodies ached too much to laugh anymore. We both laid on our backs, looking at the Great Hall ceilings. We could see the stars behind all the candles—thanks to a spell, Rose had explained to us. Orion wasn't anywhere to be seen, but the other stars were equally beautiful. Still, I rolled my eyes at his words.

"And you should stop telling me to give up on you, Scorpius, I'm telling you too."

He let out a hybrid between a snort and a laugh and rolled over to curl up into a small ball, so near me that I could feel his warmth against my side. "Words are carried away," he muttered, intertwining his fingers to improvise a pillow.

"I'll have mine carved on a stone, if you like."

His evelids started shaking as he began to doze off. "Very much," he said groggily. "Sorry, I'm feeling a little..."

The sentence was left unfinished.

 

After the Great Hall Incident, from which my back still ached slightly—I fell asleep on the cold stone floor as well, and we both woke up to McGonagall screaming at us—, Rose avoided us completely. She still sat with me in class, but that was it. No puns about weird spells, no shared doodles, no anything. Every day she took her notes, asked her questions, handed in her homework and left, as if I were invisible. I tried to talk to her, but she didn't even look at me. I let her be. Had I been in her shoes, I would've felt hurt, too. And I didn't know, and couldn't help wondering, whether I would've reacted the same way, but who was I to judge her? No one. So I tried not to.

Scorpius noticed, too, but he didn't bring up the subject. The GHI had fixed something between us, and now we talked about issues other than how guilty he felt or how I didn't think of him as a burden. It felt almost like before.

"Hey," he called, "Gryffindor plays against Slytherin today. Do you want to go to the match?"

I gave it a brief thought. We were having a Potions exam tomorrow, but this was the first time he had openly wanted to go outside ever since the attack. And come on, it was Quidditch.

"Definitely," I nodded.

Half an hour later, we were getting our butts frozen against the creaking terraces as Leo da Costa scored another ten points for us snakes. We were a thirty points ahead on the scoreboard, and it was a matter of time before James tried to crush our star Chaser's head with the bat. My brother, passionate Beater known for his accuracy, couldn't hit enough Bludgers to channel his frustration. None of them touched Leo, who scored Quaffle after Quaffle, making us roar in worship.

"GO, SLYTHERIN!" Scorpius shouted besides me. He wore six layers of clothing, which made him look fatter than usual, but he still shivered every so often. Whoever had stated that humans can regulate their body temperature clearly hadn't met Scorpius Malfoy. "Chilly afternoon we have, but it's worth it!" He rubbed his gloved hands, excited, and looked at the dark sky. "I wonder whether it will rain before it's over."

"I don't think so," I answered. "Harper looks focused. Bet you she saw something."

And, effectively, our Seeker had seen something: barely a second after, she plummeted towards the base of the Gryffindor goal posts, her hand stretched out in front of her and a fierce determination in her eyes. She rose shortly after, grinning widely as two small wings fluttered at the sides of her closed fist. We had won the match.

The whole pitch fell dead silent before bursting into screams and applause.

"THE FINAL IS OURS!" Neis yelled besides me. "WE'RE IN THE FINAL!"

"What—" Elise tried to say, but her boyfriend grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a heavy kiss on her lips. She didn't look very disgusted, I must say.

"WE WILL BE CHAMPIONS, LOLOLOLOLOLO, WE WILL BE CHAMPIONS, LOLOLOLOLOLO," sang Jesper, wand up and casting fireworks in the dark skies. Green snakes made of light curled across the clouds, making our hearts race even faster. Mine felt about to explode.

"We've won!" Scorpius squealed, clapping frantically. "We've won!"

"What's more," I said as a slow smile of realisation took over my face. "Scorpius, James has lost the match!"

"Did he...? Merlin," he gasped.

"JAMES HAS LOST THE MATCH!" I roared, hugging him tight in a flush of excitement. "Do you know what it means? He lost the bet! Last week, remember? He'll have to wear our colours for a week!"

I crackled up at the thought of James dressed in green and silver, which he always said looked awful on him. The next week was becoming increasingly appealing to me.

Scorpius laughed too, and hugged me back. His cheek was cold against mine. We had to go back to the castle, where he would be warm. Besides, our team was going to throw a party in the common room, I could feel it, so he wouldn't be missing any fun.

"Let's get moving." Breaking the hug, I got up and offered him my hand. "I want to change before the party starts down in the dungeons. I feel sweaty and filthy."

"Let's," he accepted, following me down the terraces. The wooden stairs creaked as we walked them down, although I didn't think they would choose that precise moment to crumble. Destiny hated us, but not so much.

While I took a shower, Scorpius stayed in our room, making his way through the pile of homework Binns had sent us. I would have to stay up all night finishing the essay on the Second Wizarding War, but I was too cold to regret losing my time under the water stream. Even though it was boiling hot and my skin was completely red, the match had been played under hideous weather conditions. Every inch body felt thankful for being burnt.

Relaxed and intoxicated by our victory over James—I mean, Gryffindor—, I took my time washing, then took my time again dressing up and took my time again returning to the Slytherin common room. When I reached the fake stone wall, music pumped through it already, together with high-pitched blabber.

It was going to be _the_ party.

"Scorpius?" I shouted when I entered the room. "Scorpius!"

He wasn't anywhere to be seen. Knowing him, he must have surely stayed at the dorms, finishing the essay and waiting for me. He was the kind of person who would miss a party for such reasons, but I was the kind of person who would drag him to a party despite it being a definitely bad idea. Whether he was lucky or unlucky, only he could tell.

But he wouldn't tell, because he wasn't at the dorm. No one was at the dorm, actually, and the only signals of Scorpius were a quill and a piece of parchment on his night stand. Nothing else.

Specially not my friend.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't the kind of person who would miss a party for such reasons.

I went back to the common room and into the dancing crowd, hoping to see him somewhere. But even though I asked every single Slytherin, no one had seen him.

"Are you sure he didn't go to the bathroom?" Neis asked, and Elise nodded.

"Maybe he wanted some silence," she offered. "It's really noisy in here, and he enjoys quieter places. Try the stairs. He likes sitting there to think—I've seen him a few times before."

"Thanks!" With a smile of gratitude, I practically flew towards the door. It was cold outside, and I was worried that he might get a flu if he wandered around the castle at night.

But I couldn't find him at the stairs, and that's when I started worrying seriously.

Where the wizards could Scorpius be? Not the common room, not the dorms, not the stairs, obviously not the Great Hall, not the bathrooms. I went over every inch of the castle looking for him, but he just wouldn't appear. Gone. Scorpius was gone.

"Scorpius!" I shouted at the dark of the night. It was freezing outside, and I didn't think he was stupid enough to go out when it was so cold, but just in case, I peered through every window.

Nothing.

Right when a clenching fear started clawing at my chest, I saw something white appear at the end of the corridor. At first I thought that it might be his hair under the moonlight, but when it came closer, I realised it there was no moonlight to shine against his hair and that, besides, it wasn't his hair. It was a paper plane. A wet, shaky paper plane.

_Albus,_

_I'm in the path that leads to Hogsmeade something's wrong and I need you Do not call the teachers or my parents I will never forgive you just come please just come. Please. Ple_

An irregular curvy line crossed the rest of the paper, as if the quill had slipped. Or rather as if he had been too cold to go on writing.

Below zero it must be for Scorpius to make such grammar and punctuation mistakes.

I raced towards the stone stairs that led to the back courtyard, where the wall was in ruins from the Battle of Hogwarts, in dear memory of the fallen, and where, most importantly, I could sneak outside the castle to find Scorpius. When I exited the safety and warmth of the corridor, white flooded my vision. Everything was covered in a silky, quiet white, like cotton.

It had snowed.

Time blurred as I sprinted down the only path there was, marked by fences which were halfway sunk in the snow. Even though I would be grounded forever if teachers found me outside the castle, in the dark and being only a second-year, I didn't stop calling Scorpius' name, hoping to hear his voice somewhere, somehow. The clouds had already gotten their snow loose, and so the moon wasn't hidden anymore—it ruled the night sky dousing it in a sober light, helped by a few stars. They all lit my way faintly, enough to watch my step.

"Scorpius!" I screamed, panting. "Scorpius, where are you? SCORPIUS!"

Maybe it was my imagination, but I heard, "Albus," somewhere nearby. His voice was muffled and quivering, and I feared the worst.

"Scorpius? Where are you!? I can't see you!" Desperate, I looked around.

He was crouched over himself, half buried in the snow. Somehow, he had crawled to the fence, which he was leaning against, and managed to get out his quill to scribble the note. He had been finishing the History of Magic essay as he walked, he explained later.

"Scorpius," I whispered, suddenly unable to shout.

"Hi," he mumbled.

"Oh, Merlin, Scorpius, we have to get you to St Mungo's." I knelt besides him and checked his eyes. The pupils weren't too wide, so as far as I knew, he was still fairly alright. "Oh, Scorpius. Why did you get out of the castle?"

Making a supernatural effort, I untangled his limbs and pulled him atop my back. When I stood, he was hanging from my neck, choking me. I adjusted his hands and intertwined my fingers so that he could sit on mine.

"I wanted to... Buy some Bertie Bott beans," he mumbled. His voice was quite shaky, and it took me a while to make out their meaning.

"But Scorpius, I have some at the dorm. You could have asked me," I told him softly, trying not to cry. He was heavy despite his excessive thinness, and I didn't know whether we could make it to Hogwarts or not.

For Merlin's sake, me might not make it.

"I wanted to... Do it myself. On my own."

"Oh, Scorpius," I whispered.

We didn't say anything else for a while. He breathed heavily in my ear, fighting the cruel cold of the night, while I forced myself to go on walking, take another step, never let him fall. Gravity and the steep slope that serpented across the hill to the castle were against us, but I fought them with all the strength I could gather.

I couldn't surrender. Even if all I wanted to do was falling and never getting up again, I couldn't surrender. Scorpius' life depended on me entirely, and I couldn't surrender.

"Sing something to me," he asked, in such a low voice I almost missed it.

"I'm... an awful singer," I panted. "You already know... that."

"I don't care. Sing, please." He didn't say anything for a while. "It helped... The last time."

I remembered Salazar's Pit, how I had, effectively, sang for him. "I'm not singing 'Let It Go' again," I warned him.

He didn't answer.

"Let's see..." I wriggled my fingers nervously, which I didn't feel anymore. " _I have often dreamed of a far-off place where a great warm welcome will be waiting for me. Where the crowd will cheer when they hear my name—and a voice keeps saying this is where I'm meant to be._ "

"I like it," he mumbled.

" _I will find my way—I can go the distance. I don't care how far; somehow, I'll be strong. I know every mile will be worth my while... And I would go most anywhere to feel like I belong..._ "

Hercules was one of my favourite songs, and somehow, _I Can Go the Distance_ gave me strength to give another step, then another one, and the next one. I went the distance, too, and made it to the top of the hill, where Scorpius insisted on getting down and walking. I went the distance, too, and made it to the castle, where I forced him into the shower while I called the teachers.

I don't know how. When his parents came after Mrs Lancaster made an emergency Flu Powder Call, I did my best to protect Scorpius. I lied, said that both of us had gone outside to watch the stars. But Scorpius denied my lie, and told them the truth while St Mungo's people came and flooded Mrs Lancaster's room, explaining what 'hypothermia' meant. No one would actually listen to what I had to say, because they were too busy thanking me and keeping Scorpius alive.

But let them not fool you. Scorpius didn't survive the night because they took good care of him, or because he was immediately put in St Mungo's. Neither because we all desperately wanted him to live. It was because of me. Literally. Because I took him out of the snow and somehow gave him a piggyback ride back to the castle, because I kept singing and talking to him so that he wouldn't fall asleep, because I made him have a hot shower to unfreeze and helped him dress in the warmest clothes he had, because I somehow acted like a grown-up through the whole thing and didn't allow myself to freak out.

I don't know how, but that night, _I_ saved Scorpius' life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I owe you a HUGE explanation and a MASSIVE avalanche of chapters. Right now, we're three chapters behind, as I've gone (in total) three weeks missing ever since I started publishing TFIOW here, on AO3. I know you're tired of hearing this excuse everywhere, but trust me when I say it's the one and only truth: STUDIES.
> 
> This year is being the toughest challenge I've ever faced. Not only because of the studying part, but also because my "life", if I ever did have one, is falling to pieces. My days are sadder than any misgiven Oscar. My routine consists of waking up, spending fifteen minutes on the bus then seven hours sitting on a creaking chair at my class as seven different teachers fire their subjects to me—when they bother teaching their subject at all, that is—, going home to spend eight hours studying non-stop until twelve PM or so and going to sleep because I'm doing this Ortho-K therapy to correct my wild short-sightedness and if I don't sleep at least six hours a day—and it should be eight—, I won't see anything but blurs the next day. And if that were everything, I would somehow find a way to deal with it, but the rest is also falling apart and I honestly don't know what to do anymore. After a strong argument, my "best friend" and my team turned their backs on me; the girl whom I thought was one of my best friends started ignoring me as soon as the teacher rearranged the class and I stopped sitting besides her; the mirror and the clothing and my sexuality and everything are going bonkers; the list of people that openly hate me grows steadily; teachers are arses to us; I get such a feeling of powerlessness, anxiety and inferiority almost daily that I feel like I'm choking. I spend my weeks trying not to have a breakdown and cry in front of everyone, failing at dealing with my studies and life and feeling like the worst shit ever. And I didn't want to pass on my shitstorm, but I've noticed that you guys don't drop by anymore and that's almost the last straw. You don't deserve my rambling about my absurd problems, but you don't deserve a lack of chapters, either. I hope the explanation will somehow make sense.
> 
> So I wanted to say that, fortunately and despite all of the above, my exams will be over in two weeks—if I manage to survive. Chapters will rain on you beginning March the 17th, but until then, I'm afraid nothing will be posted. Today's chapter is a terrible irresponsibility, and my study schedule is practically screaming at me right now (IT'S 2 AM AND I MUST WAKE AT 7, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE)—but hopefully, hopefully it will make up for my absence and my silence.
> 
> If anyone read up to this point, know that I love you with all my passion and vow to write again as soon as I hand in my latest exam (Spanish Literature, if my memory serves me right. From Renaissance and religious poetry to the Quijote and the Lazarillo de Tormes. Me muero mucho) 
> 
> CHIPS AHOY AND LOADS OF STRENGTH. XXX


	22. Chapter 22

Scorpius was sent home from St Mungo's a few days later, finally and irrevocably unable to go back to Hogwarts. Every day after the classes I used Mrs Lancaster's chimney to visit him at the intimidating Malfoy Manor, full of chandeliers and portraits who looked at me with great disgust. After his parents punctually thanked me for supporting their son, they let me up the magnificent marble staircase in the hall, from which I wandered into a long corridor with lots of closed doors.  Scorpius' room was at the end of it, and his door was always open—even though he never saw me coming.

Half of the days, he was sleeping, and the other half, he was either focused on a book or staring at the wall, his back turned on the door. Whatever he was doing, he did in bed.

When I entered his room, he usually sat up straight and smiled, except for the Grumpy Days, when he just mumbled a 'Hello' and didn't even look at me. Whatever he did, I always let the Snitch he had given me for my birthday loose and waited until his mother had brought all his afternoon medicines and a few sandwiches for us. Only after she closed the door did Scorpius seem to cheer up a little.

"Hello, Albus Severus Potter," he would welcome me.

"Hello, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy," I would answer, unfazed by his abuse of my second name. "How are you today?"

"Sick and wretched to the core," he always said, completely serious.

"Good that. You remember Baz Grimm-Pitch, right? Slytherin, seventh year. Well, Elise surprised him this morning making out with Simon Snow, a fifth year Hufflepuff. Maybe you don't care much about them, but she bet Baz ten galleons that he would end up dating Simon and is proud as hell. She told me to tell you 'I TOLD YOU', so yeah. She told you. Or did she?"

"I can't remember, but sure, she told me." Scorpius shook his head and sneezed. "Caddiu paz me dat hadgeshif?"

"Obviously not." I reached for the Kleenex on his bedside table. "Honey scent? You're going weak, Malfoy."

"It was either honey or lavender," he protested after blowing his nose. "I didn't have much variety of choice. Thanks. Anyway, have I told you about this book...?"

His life had turned into days of snotted handkerchiefs, pajamas and reading until he got bored, of mumblings and requests and him endlessly thanking everyone for all they were doing for him. One afternoon, he pointed vaguely at the ceiling and asked me, "Can you see that?"

"What?" I asked, squeezing my eyes. Nothing.

"The nothingness. I find myself very much like it."

It didn't even make sense, but then again, half of the things he said didn't make sense anymore.

 

Scorpius' birthday came, and I swear there has never been a more depressed birthday boy in the history of the human race. When I entered his room, he was curled up under a heavy wool blanket, and all he mumbled was, "I'm thirteen now. Such a lucky number."

"Well, hello too," I said, closing the door behind me. It was a little difficult, considering the huge box I held in my hands, but I managed to give it a kick without breaking any toe. "And happy birthday, you bitter old geezer. Here, move your artritic butt to the wall. I brought you something."

Still gloomy, Scorpius made room for my box and me in the bed, and bounced when I let myself fall on the matress. "Considering I spend my days in this bed literally," he said, "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't wreck it."

It was difficult to deal with him when he got so cranky. Not only because it hurt to see him on the defensive when I knew his true self, but also because he was as stubborn as a mule. There was no easy way out of an argument with Scorpius.

"Shut up and open the box," I chastised him, leaving the massive box besides him. I had to stand up, because the bed wasn't enough for the three of us.

Raising his eyebrows, Scorpius used his thumbnail to cut the tap, and inside the box he found... Another box, this one blue. Inside was a third box, painted in green, which contained a fourth one decorated with pictures of London. The fifth was a regular shoebox, whereas the sixth was a very fine metal one. After the eigth, which was around the size of a very thick book, he stopped and stared at me. "Is this some kind of joke, Albus?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Of course it is. Now open that box, it's the last one."

After a long and exasperating snort, Scorpius took as long as he could to open the box, and then went dead silent.

I stared at him. He stared at the box. The box—well, the box didn't stare at anyone.

"What happens?" I asked, worried. "It's there, right—I mean, the box isn't empty. Because I packed it myself, of that I'm sure, but maybe James made it disappear and—"

"Albus," he interrupted me.

With infinite care, he sunk his hands inside the box and plucked out a small wooden device. The ebony gleamed faintly below the sunlight that entered the room through the window.

"I—Do you like it?" I asked, anxious.

He stared at me.

"Um... What is this exactly?"

Sometimes I forgot he had almost no idea of anything non-magical belonging to the XX-XXI centuries. How else could he not know what a radio was?

"It's a radio," I explained. "Muggle invention, and incredibly useful. There are things called radio stations, which broadcast music, or debates, or interviews, or rambles by experts... Many kinds of programmes. You select a frequency using these small wheels, and choose what you want to listen to. Easy peasy."

"A frewhat?"

Wait, so Scorpius knew less than me about something? Someone please take a photograph.

"Frequency. The programmes are emmited in a certain... Wait," I said, trying to figure out how to explain it to him. Rose would've been much better and clearer, and it saddened me to remember that we didn't talk anymore. "You know about television, right?"

"Kind of," he nodded. "Rings a bell. Go on."

Sweet Merlin, there was so much work to be done.

"Nevermind. Basically, frequencies are the... The places where they emit each programme. They are not physical, of course, but just so that you get the idea. Each is different, so you have to choose the programme you want to listen to by choosing one frequency, one place. Like when you choose the story you want to read by choosing one book. That's what the little wheels are for."

Grandpa Arthur had a radio which he loved deeply, and he had taught all of us how to use it. The fact that Scorpius didn't even know what a radio was felt alien.

"Here, let me," I sighed after he turned the wheels for a good ten minutes. He hadn't even turned it on. "What do you want me to tune in?"

"Music," he answered immediately. "I almost never listen to music. Please."

Weird. The BBC suited him better.

Obediently, I played with the radio until I tuned in to Smooth. It was the most varied and less-full-of-pop station I could think of, and he didn't know a thing about radio programmes anyway. He couldn't tell whether it was bad or not. As soon as I left the radio on his bedside table, Smashmouth's _I'm A Believer_ started blasting at the stereo.

"What's this?" Scorpius started moving his head to the rythm of the song. "I quite like it."

" _Love was out to get meeee_ ," I croaked. " _That's the way it seeeeemed..._ It's from _Shrek_. Ogres and fairytales."

"Sounds... Interesting," he carefully said, frowning.

"You have absolutely no film culture, so shut up, rookie."

He opened his mouth to reply, but instead began coughing as if he were an eighty-year-old with lung  problems instead of a thirteen-year-old teenager. While he convulsed on the bed, he stretched out his hand, and I crumbled a handkerchief on it. Immediately, he brought it to his mouth. When the attack finally relented a little and his hand fell onto his lap, the tissue was covered in blood.

"Don't," he warned me, throwing the stained handkerchief to a bin besides his bed. "I'm alright. It's just the new therapy."

I shivered, all glee from seeing him smile at the radio gone. "Scorpius..."

"Don't," he whispered again. When I looked up at him, his grey eyes gleamed faintly behind the tears. "Please."

He sank his head in his pillow, cheeks rosy from the violent coughing. Smashmouth wasn't on the radio anymore. Fall Out Boy's _Centuries_ came off the speaker. One of my favourite songs of all times, but I wasn't on the mood to sing along.

"Make room," I pleaded, kicking my shoes off. He wriggled under the covers, and I somehow slipped under them. It was as hot as Blast-Ended Skrewt nest in there, but I didn't say anything. Looking for him in the land of silks and wool until I found his hand, I pulled  Scorpius' scrawny and fragile body into a hug. "We'll make it through this," I whispered in his ear. "I promise you. Even if I have to brew the cure myself, you're going to live. Okay?"

"You can't promise that."

"Of course I can. Stop defining people by what you think they can't do. There are no bigger limits than the ones you impose to yourself, or to others."

I was on the verge of melting under the thousand covers. Scorpius wasn't going to die from magiconecrosis, he was going to die from a heat stroke.

He tossed and turned to look at me. "You should become a philosopher when you get older. Like, I don't know, Aristotle or Plato."

"Whoever they are, I'm not interested. One can't be existentialist and deep all the time, it's tiring."

He barked a rough laughter, and pressed his forehead against my chest. "Thank you for everything, Albus. Really."

"Welcome," I said. His temple was boiling hot. "Hope it'll pay back when the time comes to read your will."

We stayed silent for a while, until my stomach roared and I reached for the sandwiches, which I had left atop the biggest box.

"What were all the boxes for, anyway?"

"For you to ask," I answered. Halfway through the sandwich as I was, it came out more like 'ffiu tajk'. After that, we stayed silent while Patrick Stump repeated the chorus. It suited Scorpius too much. Stupid prophetic radio. This is how it goes:

 _Some legends are told_  
_Some turn to dust or to gold_  
 _But you will remember me_  
 _Remember me, for centuries_  
 _Just one mistake_  
 _Is all it will take_  
 _We'll go down in history_  
 _Remember me for centuries_  
 _Hey, hey, hey_  
 _Remember me for centuries_

Maybe he wouldn't go down in big History, History with a capital H, like Alexander the Great or Merlin, but he would go down in minor history. In mine. In the Malfoys'. In Rose's. He wouldn't be forgotten.  At least _I_ wouldn't forget him.

 

That night, even though it was only Tuesday and I had to wake up early the next day, I accepted Mr and Mrs Malfoy's invitation to have dinner with them. His aunt Daphne and her four sons had come to visit, too, so we wouldn't be alone in the massive dining room. One of them, Apollo, was a third year Slytherin I recognised from the Quidditch team. He was the best Chaser we had—after Leo da Costa, of course.

"Why, hello," his aunt Daphne greeted, shaking my hand. "You must be Albus Potter."

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded. Why, why, just _why_ was Scorpius' family made of gods and godesses? My Hogwarts uniform felt filthy and ugly in comparison to Mrs Mirikov's turquoise dress, or Apollo and Helio's dinner suit. His little sister, Dianne, wore a blouson Lily would have tried to steal, and his other sister, Selene, had thrown on tomboy clothes that made her look like a miniature and brunette version of the 2000's Avril Lavigne. They were all beautiful to the point that it hurt. Or maybe I was just too average, and that was why they seemed so astonishing to me.

"So long, Astoria!" she squealed when she saw her sister, who was helping Scorpius downstairs. Relieved not to be completely alone before such an awkward situation anymore, I walked up to him and went to the table, where we sat together and completely alone. I heard Daphne ask, "How's Scor going? Is it as bad as you told us?"

"One more minute, and I would've tried to kill myself," I admitted, looking down at my rolled sleeves and my slightly tilted bow. "Why are you Malfoys so perfect?"

"Do I look like Michelangel's David to you right now?" He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "If it solaces you, at least you look like you're alive."

"Don't be so rude to yourself," I reprimanded him. "You're very alive right now."

"Tell that to the bags under my eyes."

"Sorry, milady, I didn't catch that."

He snorted, but the faintest smile was already plastered on his face.

Somehow, her mother had gotten him to wear something else than his pajamas. Having worn them—blue linen shirt and trousers—for over a week, the sight of him in regular jeans and a simple black T-shirt was mind-boggling.

"Hey, Scor," Apollo shouted from the hall. "You still alive?"

"Last time I  checked, at least," he nodded. "How are you, Apollo?"

"Dude, we're in the finals this year." The Chaser grinned. "The Cup is ours! You gotta come see the match, it's going to be uh-mazing!"

Uh-mazing would be if Scorpius' parents actually let him attend the match.

Apollo sat down besides Scorpius carelessly, sprawled on the chair, and began talking about Quidditch strategies. Apparently, they were going for a Hawkshead Attacking Formation to boost their goaling score, and Leo would be trying the Dionysus Dive, which involved him leaping from the broomstick to punch the Quaffle across the goalposts.

"Isn't that a little... Suicidal?" Scorpius asked, rubbingthe nap of his neck.

"Come on, it's Leo we're talking about." Fluttering a hand, Apollo shook his head. "He was born half monkey. He'll deal with the thirty-metre fall. You should be more worried for Helio. He's obsessed with doing a Wronski feint, and was almost given the sack the last match for going a little too far with the Transylvanian tackle. Bets say he's getting suspended for the rest of the year. Let's hope for the Teddy guy to be the referee—if not, he won't step onto the field until he's thirty."

"Shut up, Apollo, I'm not gonna mess it up!" His twin, Helio, stumped into the dining room. They weren't identical, although there was the same mischievous gleam in both's eyes. Helio's dark curls were wilder, and his green eyes were brighter. Apollo was like a copy of him made when almost out of ink. Also, Helio's nose was slightly crooked. Maybe from a failed Wronski feint?

"Hey, bro, just broadcasting the rumours."

"Hell to your rumours. Anyway, who's this guy?" Despite having sat right next to me, Helio seemed to have noticed me just then. "Thing is, he rings a bell..."

"Albus Potter." I hated the quiver in my voice. _There's nothing wrong with you being Scorpius' friend, so stop it! Don't be ashamed, idiot._

"Potter... James' bro? Dude, your brother is really something. Never ever have I been Bludgered with such intensity." Apollo leaned over the table to look at me. "You play Quidditch, too?"

"Eh, no," I answered. "That's James' thing, and maybe even Lily's. I'm the family clapper, actually. But hey, never ever have you been clapped at more enthusiastically."

"Great. You're hired." He offered me a fist, which I bumped mine against. "You gotta be fit for the finals, yeah? Practice a few songs, like, I don't know, 'Apollo is our god' or something. Surprise me."

The rest of Daphne's children entered the dining room, Dianne holding her mother's hand whereas Selene scrapped some violet lacque off her nails. Mr and Mrs Malfoy ushered them in, all smiles and nice words. It was hard to believe that the same man who was asking his wife to sit and serving the starters was said to be a ruthless Death Eater and a horrible person. I felt something bitter in the pit of my stomach when I thought of all the nasty rumours about the Malfoys. For Merlin's sake, they were good people. Was it so difficult to see?

"Where's Dimitri, Daphne?" Astoria asked softly, her hands on her lap. "Busy?"

"He's been sent to Russia again," Scorpius' aunt said, looking away. "To Cheremkhovo."

"Isn't there where...?"

"Revolts against the Law of Magic Witnesses." Daphne nodded. "People are growing more and more dissatisfied each day, and violence is growing exponentially. The new government hasn't provided any solutions, so men like Dimitri are defenceless. They can't either detain anyone until they have truly hurt someone nor do anything but watch the streets."

I wriggled on my chair, uncomfortable. Aunt Hermione had done her best to protect both the Muggle and the Magic worlds when she proposed the law, and these weren't the kind of consequences she had expected.

"Well, that Granger is a bluffer," Selene said. "So my father has to freeze his butt in Russia because our dimwit Minister wants to take care of a bunch of Muggles?"

"Selene!" Daphne shouted, grabbing her shoulders. "We have already talked about this. Muggles aren't any less valid than wizards, and if the Law of Magic Witnesses is wrong, it isn't because it tries to protect them."

"Mum, they used to burn us at stakes! How can you say they aren't scum!? They're afraid of everything that's more powerful, and don't tell me we are equals, because we are clearly not. We are much better, and we have to bow down to the poor magicless beings? What a joke. Say what you want, but the law is stupid and so is its creator. Got something to say, Potter boy? I don't even know what you're doing here, in the Malfoy Manor, when your father is such a disgrace to the Wizarding—"

 Draco coughed, and we all turned to look at him. I didn't realise I had been clenching my fists to the point that my knuckles had turned white until Scorpius' hand covered mine. His father rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt, revealing a greyish drawing on his skin. The mark of the Death Eaters.

"Do you know what this is, Selene?" he asked quietly. "The mark of darkness. I used to be like you. Full of hatred towards the different. My parents raised me to think that purebloods were better than any other wizard and, of course, superior to any Muggle. That belief almost got us all killed during the Second Wizarding War. Trust me when I say you're wrong, kid, and pray that you never have to learn the hard way."

"But they _are_ inferior!" Selene protested. She had seemed like such a sweet girl, and all I could think now was, _Choke her! Poison in the fries! Off with her head!  
_

"Lord Voldemort had the same opinion," Draco muttered.

"Well, maybe he wasn't so wrong!"

"SELENE!" Daphne cried, horrified. "Go away, please. I don't know where have we gone wrong, but your father and I haven't raised you to be a magic supremacist."

The hater version of young Avril Lavigne stomped away, banging a random door behind her. Everyone was dead silent, and I felt like an intruder.

The dinner had seemed almost bearable five minutes ago, but now there was an lump in my throat I couldn't swallow down. Aunt Hermione wasn't stupid nor a dimwit. She had been born in a Muggle family, and knew them better than any previous Minister. She was fighting to protect the two worlds she belonged to, and a ten-year-old Neo-Death Eater brat didn't have any right to say a thing.

"Albus, I'm sorry. Please forgive my daughter's outrageous behaviour—I know Minister Granger is your aunt, and she has our family's respect. Selene is just a stubborn and ignorant child, and for her horrible words I must apologize." Daphne faintly wiped her tears with the napkin.

"Don't worry," I said. My voice was husky and low, barely keeping the tears at bait. I had wanted to believe that I was strong, that these things didn't affect me the way they used to anymore, but I had obviously lied to myself. "I... You're not to blame.  The new law has found a lot of opposition, and my—the Minister is working very hard to find a solution. Sorry to hear about your husband's situation. I hope he won't be hurt."

Actually, I wanted to curse her whole lineage, but it didn't seem like a very nice thing to say.

"We don't think your aunt is a bluffer," Apollo added, shaking his head. "She has passed some laws related to Quidditch that are pretty cool."

"Cool as in letting us play in international tournaments with our parents' consent," Helio reminded him. "That kind of cool. And you are, too. Our sister is a jerk, don't listen to her."

"I want to eat salmon," Dianne complained. "Auntie Tori, do you have salmon today?"

"Why, yes, of course, dear." With a nod, Mrs Malfoy handed her a plate on which semitransparent pink slices lay. Little Dianne put the dish atop of her own, and began eating fish as if there were no tomorrow. When everyone started fighting over the remaining starters, the issue was shut down. But it didn't stop hurting, like a slowly throbbing pain in my chest. The pain of rejection.

 

"I'm sorry that you had to go through that," Scorpius apologised later. He was in bed, and I was, too.  I would have to wake up very early to arrive in time to my first class, but I was too tired to travel back to the castle that night. After Mrs Malfoy talked to Mrs Lancaster, they had lent me a pajama and a toothbrush, and now Scorpius and I were curled up under the sheets, his blond hair silvery under the starlight. He had always been pale, but that night, he looked like a ghost.

"I swear my parents adore you, and aunt Daphne thinks you're charming, too. Only Selene thinks that way. She made some new friends last year. They're older and imbeciles, and she just repeats every word that comes out of their mouths."

So my family had not only a snotty child, but a whole hater club. Better yet.

"Don't worry," I lied. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh, but it does. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. We all love you, Albus, and don't want you to feel we profess you any different feeling."

I didn't say anything, willing to change the topic. The radio was turned on, and after a few seconds in silence, I finally recognised the song: _Who Wants To Live Forever_ , by Queen. My mother loved Queen, and so James, Lily and I did. It took all my willpower not to start singing along Freddie Mercury.

"Albus," Scorpius called right when I thought he had fallen asleep, and was about to myself.

"What?"

"Were you serious about finding a cure?"

I stayed silent for a second, peering through his window. There was Orion the Hunter, shining from thousands of miles away. "Dead serious," I admitted.

"Swear something. Swear you won't go too far. Swear you won't turn your back on everything else because of me."

Under the covers, he was shivering again, whereas I was beginning to consider it could be worth it sleeping with only my boxers on. Happy to have an excuse to, I undid the shirt of the pajamas Astoria had lent me and put it atop of him. If I hadn't missed any, there were ten layers atop of him now.

"Scorpius..."

"Please, Albus." He grabbed my hand and squeezed. "You're the kind of friend who would consume trying to save me. You would sacrifice everything for me, and I would never forgive myself if you did. There's so much world to see out there, and you can't just sit inside and watch me die."

"You're not going to die, idiot."

I wanted to slap him for saying such things. How was he going to heal if he didn't believe in getting well? Books warned that the placebo effect was crucial in many cases, and he was achieving the exact opposite.

"The chances are, I will in eighty-seven per cent of the cases. Look, I don't... I don't want to go, okay?" His voice sounded choked now. "Death is scary, and I don't want to leave my parents and my scarce friends behind. But if that's how things must be, alright. Just... Promise you'll leave in time. In time not to be dragged along."

Scorpius was breaking my heart a little more with every word, and the worst part was that I couldn't deny him anything. Not even a promise I knew I wouldn't be able to keep.

So I lied through my teeth. Crossing my fingers under the pillow and swallowing the salty tears, I said, "Okay. I promise."

I waited until he fell asleep to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a horrible person apuf D: My bbies
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who commented on the last chapter! I was really ashamed after posting the end note, because it was so clingy, but I couldn't delete it because I ran out of battery (<3). But the next day I woke to such beautiful comments, I wanted to cry from joy. Really, thank you so much. You don't know how much it means.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Get some handkerchiefs, guys. I apologise in advance for the feels.

From that day on, everything went downhill. Scorpius slept each time more, ate each time less and suffered every single second. Some days he took painkillers that knocked him out for hours or made him drool, but some others, when he felt strong, he tried to get through without them. On those days, I tried to medicate him myself. 

Scorpius' white, perfect teeth were meant to smile, not to grit in pain. His porcelain skin was meant to be like shiny marble, not like sour milk. He was meant to be brilliant and charming and funny and extremely well-mannered, not empty and depressed and gloomy and silent. Scorpius was meant to be Scorpius, not a pale ghost of Scorpius.

Often, Apollo and Helio joined me in my visits, having been given permission by Mrs Lancaster. They were just like James, all smiles and bad puns and teasing, but their energy had begun to wear off. Every time we appeared at Hogwarts after spending the afternoon with Scorpius, they leaned on each other for support. Not only physically, but psychologically. Lively Helio had much more trouble dealing with it, and it wasn't strange to see him crying on Apollo's shoulder. 

"How is he?" we always asked Mrs Malfoy when we stepped out of her chimney.

After hugging us all, she always shrugged, tired. "Sleeping," she said most of the times.

One afternoon, when Mrs Malfoy couldn't hear him, Helio murmured, "He's dying."

 

One of the less horrible cancer terms I came across was the Last Good Day, wherein it seems like the fall has suddenly slowed down and the pain is bearable for some hours. The problem is, of course, that you have no way of knowing that your last good day is actually your Last Good Day. At the time, it's just a good day.

The day after Slytherin won Gryffindor by 380-170, Mrs Lancaster knocked the door and entered the class in the middle of a Potions exam. All the eyes flew from the bubbling greenish blob in the caudrons to the slim figure of the Headmaster, who was sticking her neck like a tortoise from behind the door. "Sorry, may I talk to Albus Potter for a second, Mrs Lidewij?"

Everything froze and shattered around me, and only Mrs Lancaster and I existed as I tried not to think that maybe Scorpius was... Was..

Wasn't. That maybe Scorpius _wasn't_ anymore.

"Of course, Mrs Lancaster," Lidewij's voice answered from somewhere behind me. My hand itched for some reason, but I barely noticed.

_Please don't let him be gone please don't let him be gone please don't let him be gone._

"Don't worry, Albus—I'll watch your caudron," someone offered. I didn't even know who. Why did it matter, anyway? 

My footsteps echoed and bounced from one stone wall to the opposite as I walked towards the door, barely seeing the tables and students I miraculously didn't bump into. Mrs Lancaster put a  hand on my shoulder as soon as I was within her reach, and squeezed.

"Do not worry, Mr Potter," she whispered, ushering me out and closing the door. "Nothing has happened to Mr Malfoy. He is still alive and as well as possible."

Was. Scorpius still _was_.

I tried to remember how to breathe.

"Alright," I panted. "Alright. What happens, Mrs Lancaster? James did anything?"

She let out a giggle. "No, don't worry. James is behaving properly."

"Odd. Watch out for any exploding toilets."

Relief had flooded me when I learnt that Scorpius wasn't gone yet, and now it overflowed and dropped from my tongue under the form of words. Words, words, words. 

Mrs Lancaster handed me a letter, whose curled calligraphy was completely recognisable and known to me. Scorpius' handwriting. 

If he felt well enough to write on his own again, maybe the therapy was working. Maybe he was getting better, and maybe he could be healed. Maybe he would be the Scorpius I met and befriended again sometime, maybe he would live long and happily. Maybe he would be alright. Words, words, words. They were so powerful that even the anticipation of them could raise my heartbeat and dye my cheeks. 

" _Good morning, Albus Severus Potter._

_Do you suppose you could find your way to my house's living room around five thirty P.M.? Also, if it's not too much trouble, please prepare an eulogy. Ask Rose."_

Under my breath, I cursed Scorpius. Even from the distance, he could tell when I didn't know what a word meant.

Words, words, words.

"'Eulogy' comes from _eulogia_ , which is Classical Greek for 'praise'. It refers to a speech or writing in praise of someone or something—specially one who recently died or retired." The girl swifted her weight from one leg to the other, her eyes fixed on the irregular stones from the floor. "It also applies when the text is written to talk about people who are still alive."

Rose.

Rose was there, and she was talking to me again. She was feeding me some culture, and it felt like a firework inside my stomach. I couldn't hold it. Out of breath, I threw my arms around her and hugged her tight. The moment I touched her, she started crying. My sleeve was soon dumped with tears, but I didn't mind. All I could think of was that Rose was there again, in my arms, reciting her dictionary definitions and being intelligent. 

Against my stomach was a small box she held, but I didn't mind the prick. I would have endured a thousand times worse to talk to her again. "Rose," I sobbed. "Rose, Rose, Rose."

"Sorry, Albus, I'm so sorry," she cried between my arm and my chest. "I've been a terrible friend, and a monster. Merlin, I'm so sorry. What have I done?"

By the corner of the eye, I saw Mrs Lancaster leave discretely. Her long tunique waved as she glided elegantly across the corridor, towards the Great Hall. 

"Shhh," I gently shushed her. "Don't worry, Rose, everything is okay. You aren't any kind of monster. Shhh, shhh."

"But I left him alone," she hiccupped. "I gave up on him, and even tried to force you to do the same. He may have died while I was too busy being a stiff, and..." Another wave of sobs hit her, and she didn't finish the sentence. 

Once, when we were seven, five-year-old Hugo fell into a swamp. Of course, barely a toddler, he didn't know how to swim, and for some reason he didn't kick about nor tried to float. He just sank and let bubbles out of his mouth, which he later on explained tickled. When our parents realised Hugo had stopped his baby blabber, it was almost too late. Dad and Uncle Ron jumped into the swamp right away, while Mum held Aunt Hermione and Aunt Hermione held Mum as they wept, and James, Rose and I could only watch the dark waters and have hope, which grew smaller as the time passed. 

Despite being fully dressed, which translated into a lot of extra weight, Dad and Uncle Ron managed to drag Hugo to the shore of the swamp. Fixed on her little brother's still body, Rose's eyes gleamed faintly as Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione fought to bring him back to life, to get a breath. Those were the last tears I saw rolling down her face.

Until now that Rose the Strong, Rose the Wise, Rose the Invincible—until now that Rose Almighty had begun crying against my arm. Inside my chest, a hole grew bigger with every tear, and my heart couldn't run away from its borders fast enough. Tired of fleeing, of being on the run ever since Scorpius confessed suffering from magiconecrosis at Salazar's Pit, it couldn't last much longer. Sooner or later, it would collapse, exhausted and unable to try anymore. And its little legs were already sore.

But at least Rose was crying against my arm because she had come back to me, to Scorpius and I. At least my cousin had returned. 

"What are we going to do, Albus? When did we become so invested in him?" she asked at last. Her voice was calmer, though still shaky.

"We're going to write our eulogies," I murmured, "and they're going to be merlinious. He'll cry for days after he reads them. They'll go down in history as the most brilliant eulogies ever written."

She quivered between my arms. "It sounds good."

"Of course it does. It's _my_ plan, after all." We split, and although her face was still blotchy and her eyes glassy with tears, she smiled, and fixed the world a little. "What's that box, anyway?"

I couldn't quite believe it when she opened it. _Mulan_ , _Hercules_ , _Treasure Planet_ , _Tarzan_ and my other all-time favourite Disney films were inside the box, begging me to watch them all until my eyes dried up and plopped to the floor.

"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU."

"Well, I thought..." She rubbed her eye with the free hand. "I thought that, after meeting him, we could go to your house and watch a few of them. You said he hadn't watched a Disney film in his entire life, and that's something we must solve."

Genious. Rose was a blessed genious. 

"I love you to the moon and back," I said, taking the box to see which others were inside. In my mind, I was already setting up the order of the films. Was _Mulan_ more important than _Hercules_? Or should we begin with _Big Hero 6_? _Finding Nemo_ was a strong candidate as well, and... Merlin, this was harder than passing Charms.

After talking it through, we decided that we would let either Scorpius or, in case of extreme necessity, Lily, choose. The only thing I wasn't going to put up with was _Frozen_ , but apart from that, I was fine with Rose's proposal.

"Now we just have to write the eulogy and we'll have solved the afternoon," she said, sniffing and hugging herself. We had moved to a stone bench near the Slytherin common room, and it was chilly. I reached out for her hand and squeezed. "Do you know what you're going to write about?"

I thought about it for a while.

"Actually—I think I do."

 

The Malfoys' posh dining-room chairs were arranged in a circle, the sober room warmed up by the flames crackling in the chimney. Scorpius sat on one of them, grotesquely thin but still able to deliver one of his brand Malfoy Smiles. Apollo and Helio, who had arrived mere seconds before us, patted his back enthusiastically. "It was around time you tried to dress decently," Helio teased him, running a finger down the sleeve of Scorpius' elegant suit. "You look great, bro. Almost a pity that this is not the actual funeral, because you'd make every girl cry and scream 'Why!?' to the ceiling."

"Hottie you are, Scor." Apollo reached for a sandwich from the small plate on the table, which had been pushed aside to make room for the chairs. He had had roughly five minutes to change after the Quidditch training, so he was hungry—and looked—like a bear. One that had just gone through hibernation and woken up to the wonderful sight and smell of some deers.

"Thank you... I guess?" Scorpius answered. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes like a toddler. "Rose Weasley, you look ravishing."

My cousin smoothed out her white shirt, her shoes suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. "Thank you," she whispered. "You... You look good, Scor. Really."

"Hello too, Malfoy." Sticking my tongue out, I let myself fall onto the chair next to his. "You look decent today."

"I know, right?" With a quirky smile plastered on his face, he raised his hand to comb the rebel fringe that tried to blind his eyes behind a platinum curtain. "Now sit, everyone—I'm about to be eulogised."

"You're... what?" 

Rose sat besides me, her back completely straight. She could've been posing for one of Malfoy Manor's hater pictures. Add an old-fashioned dress and a shawl and boom, you got great-great-grandma Antigone. "He means he's going to listen to our eulogies," she explained, her eyes riveted on a particularly refined and empty vase.

"Clever girl," Helio said, nodding in approval. "Like her."

I don't know which was redder, if Rose's curls or her face. Mundane things like meeting at her dying friend's house to read a speech about him in front of his family didn't faze her, of course it didn't, but a skirt-chaser guy hitting on her? Man, now _that_ was some serious stuff.

"I want to attend my funeral," Scorpius explained, as if Helio and Rose didn't even exist and hadn't talked at all. "By the way, will you speak at my funeral? And I don't want any stupid response such as 'There will be no funeral'." He looked at me when he said that.

"How did you—Nevermind," I grunted, frustrated by his telepathic abilities. "Of course I'll read. I'm not missing such a chance to call you every name in the book."

"Of course," Apollo said, and Helio nodded in approval.

"I will." Rose reached for his shoulder behind me and squeezed. Scorpius winced. She let go.

We all tuck our hands inside our pockets. I knew we were all thinking the exact same: that maybe the eulogy we had written that day would have to be read again sooner than expected. Much sooner than desired. "Awesome," he said, turning to grab a sandwich. "I'm hopeful I'll get to attend as a ghost, but just in case, I thought I could arrange a prefuneral. Not to put you on the spot, but since I'm in surprisingly good shape today—well, there's no time like the present."

"When did you become a savant?" Apollo asked, elbowing him gently. He rubbed his arm when Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut. None of them said nothing about it. "You should grow a beard. No one will take you seriously if you don't grow a beard."

"A man's wisdom resides in his beard, dude." Clicking his tongue, Helio leaned back on his chair. "Anyway, whatcha' waiting for?"

Green flames crackled in the chimney, and Teddy stepped out of them. His hair was grey with ashes, and he coughed as if he had seventy years more than he actually had. "Cursed Floo thing," he grunted. "It's so uncool. Hey there, Malfoy. Your chimney sucks."

"Teddy!" Rose exclaimed, standing up to hug him. When our cousin mischievously grinned, I looked in his same direction to spot a slightly—sligggggghtly—frowning Helio.

Couldn't be. Seriously?

When had the whole thing turned into a soap opera?

"Hello, everyone, I'm Teddy and I'm covered in ash because Scorpius' Merlinforsaken chimney is dirty as hell." Patting some ash off his leather blazer, he sat cross-legged on the floor. "Dude, you're rich. Hire someone to clean every now and then."

The guffaw Scorpius let out was the liveliest I had heard from him in a long while. "Of course I'm rich, but I rather spend my money on more useless, rich-kid things.

"Hey, you're stealing my eulogy," Helio protested. "My first bit is about how you were a spoiled Miss Moneybags."

We all laughed. "Okay, okay," Scorpius said. "At your leisure."

Helio cleared his throat and stood up, taking out of his pocket a crumpled ball of paper. "Ahem. Scorpius Malfoy was a spoiled Miss Moneybags. Trust me, he was—the boy once bought a Nimbus 2016 he was too little to fly, just because and getting himself a broken leg and two missing teeth. But we forgive him. We forgive him not because he had a heart as figuratively big as Slytherin's stunning Beater's, or because he knew more about blowing things up than every non-terrorist twelve-year-old in history, or because he got fourteen years when he should have gotten more."

"Thirteen," Scorpius corrected. "And I must credit Albus for the explosive knowledge."

"I'm assuming you've got some time, you interrupting dope.

"As I was saying," Helio went on, "Scorpius talked so much that he would interrupt you at his own funeral. And he was loco. Jeez, the guy was so loco, he would nick old Grandpa Ladon's wand and try to prick a Diricawl with it at the safari. We were grounded forever because he wanted to play with the Merlinforsaken bird. And he was a dreamboat: never ever have I met someone as physically attractive and as uncoscious of it. 

"But I will say this: First of all and before anyone screams and faints, this is an eulogy, so do not expect my description to be realistic—" Only I heard Scorpius' husked 'Hey!', "—and second of all: When I finally settle down with a nice chick and have rowdy children who troublemake all day and are the complete opposite of Scorpius, I will convince my wife to name one of them, the most unsufferable one, Scorpius Hyperion, because he does deserve to be remembered and honoured. 

"And then I will spend the rest of my life telling little Scorpius Hyperion Mirikov off, because Merlin, he's going to be such a pain. But each time the kiddo sticks his tongue out at me and I want to feed him to a Hungarian Horntail, I will remember the talkative, loco dreamboat from whom the snot got his name. Sorry, though, but he will still be grounded forever on a daily basis. Scorpius, my friend, so long."

Scorpius nodded for a while, his lips pursed, and then offered Helio a smile. The latter's quivered. "I would cut the bit about being a dreamboat," he finally said, having recovered his composure. "You never know what people could think."

"Now, what are _you_ thinking, weirdo? All Snitches caught, Scorpius, editing your own eulogy." Helio sniffed, and patted his cheeks. "Here you go, the original. Make all the changes you please, but I'm sticking to the dreamboat thing."

Teddy went next, and we all laughed when he mentioned the pranks we had pulled with the Goblins. 

"And then, when we were about to get caught, when Filch was right around the corner and all hope seemed to be lost..." he said, lowering his voice, "that's when the little corageous dude stood up and announced, _'I'm sorry, Filch, sir, but I'm having a urinary incontinence and can't seem to find the bathroom!'_   

"Shall you ever remember that remarkable day when every teacher's wand couldn't summon anything beyond peanuts, remember to keep Scorpius Malfoy in your mind. For he saved not only that prank, but uncountable others. True Goblin, great person and a better pranker. Farewell, my dear friend."

Teddy finished reading, but he was still clinging to the paper. He pressed his lips together in a fine line, so that they almost disappeared, and for a moment, he couldn't recover his mischievous grin. "Farewell," he repeated, and fell onto a chair, staring at nowhere. I knew the look in his eyes.

It was the kind of look you got when you realised how little Scorpius had left.

 

After Apollo went Rose. She apologised in advance for the bad redaction and the weird structure, but we all knew they were mere excuses to turn down the tension a tad. We were all so emotional that you could smell the tears from afar.

"If men could express the measure of their love, they would not be men, but gods. Our vocabulary is limited, is human—yet I dare say that there are no limits for love beyond those we impose ourselves. We could argue that love is not unlimited, that sometimes it runs out, but then we could argue again, cannot something be infinite while it lasts? Infinitely big in a finite period of time.

"Because that's life: a finite period of time. A lot of mornings and afternoons and nights inbetween two key days. And no, I do not know whether there is something after we die, whether there is a place where you can go on loving without time limits or whether, when you close your eyes for the last time, you open them to a new somewhere. Maybe there is another existence, or maybe not, I do not know. Maybe there we can express the measure of our love.

"Scorpius, maybe you did not realise, or maybe I was not able to demonstrate it, but I did love you deeply. I loved the small details: the fact that you actually believed Browen the Brave was a hero, the way you always said 'please' and 'thank you' and never swore, how you taught us some spells of dubious legality... And now that you are gone, it is even more obvious to me that there are no words to describe and measure love, because I cannot find words to describe how much it hurts to know that you are gone. 

"And I tell myself each morning, when I wake up and stare at the walls and remember our debates, and when I walk to the dungeons to pick up Al and shiver because it is frozen down there, and when he refuses to eat anything but spaghetti and I look down to the carrots—I tell myself every day that if love could be measured, mine for you would break the scale of infinites.

"Does not forget you and never will, Rose."

She had started crying around the third sentence, and now the paper was crumpled in her fist and her cheeks were wet as endless tears rolled down her cheeks. The last sentences had come out shaky, as if an earthquake had shaken the ground. And it had. Just not a physical one.

Dead silent, Scorpius stood up—not without effort—and hugged Rose. After him went I, and then Teddy. And then Helio, and then Apollo. And then we were all sobbing and hiccupping and sobbing even further and hicccupping even more, and Helio was cursing Rose for being just as clever and talented as she seemed, and Rose was too busy weeping to even notice the praise, and Teddy was too emotional to kill him for hitting on his cousin, and Apollo's eyes gleamed with tears, and Scorpius, oh, Merlin, Scorpius was crying and coughing and crying and coughing and crying and coughing, but mostly crying, and then I was, too, and then we were all in tears and on the floor, knelt or sitting down but still fused in a massive hug. 

"Don't go, you idiot," Helio told Scorpius, punching his arm. "We're gonna be this mess all the time if you do."

And then we all cried even more, and it was a miracle, because one would think there was no water left in our bodies to throw such a pity party, but apparently there was, so we went on weeping.

"Albus," Apollo said after a while, when our eyes stopped being like the Niagara Falls, "don't you dare read your eulogy. If you do, you're dead."

"Better," I mumbled. "It was horrible anyway."

"No," Teddy said. He had been the quickest to recover, but hadn't broken free from the hug. Arms around Scorpius and me, his chin rested atop my head. "We all read it and suffered, he reads it and suffers."

"I can't read mine after Rose's," I argued. "It's pathetic. She totally killed me there."

"Shut up and read it," she grunted. "Crybaby."

Trying to get ready for the oncoming storm, I took my time. I stood and reached for the radio, which rested on the table, forgotten. I turned it on, then played with the wheels until I tuned in a classical rock radio station. The song almost pulled me back to tears. It was Bob Dylan's _Knockin' On Heaven's Door_.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." I sniffed and reached for my horrible eulogy inside my pocket. "It's extremely bad, really."

"Albus. Just. Read it." Scorpius' eyes were closed. "Don't you dare spoil my prefuneral."

_Don't cry. Don't break down._

"My name is Albus Potter," I began, hands so shaky I could barely read the words, "and if Scorpius were here, he would whisper 'Severus' and smile like a kid, because he loves reminding me of my awful second name. After that, of course, I would interrupt my very moving speech to fire back a 'Hyperion', and then the Third Wizarding War would break out. For Scorpius was one surprise after another one, but there were two things he definitely hated, and one of them was his second name. The other one, as we discovered while at Salazar's..." I started crying again. All I could think of was how shitty, to make it clear, my eulogy was, and how everyone had had kind and beautiful words whereas I was too dull to craft anything remotely nice. "Okay, how not to cry. How—okay. Okay."

I took a deep breath and threw the paper away, rubbing my temple. "Ours was an epic friendship, but I can't talk about it without disappearing into a puddle of tears, so I will talk about stars. I am not an astronomer, but I know a few random facts about stars. Mainly because Scorpius taught me.

"So here goes one: There's a constellation in the sky named Orion the Hunter, which is said to have been put there by Zeus as a tribute to a very skilled hunter who messed up with someone he shouldn't have messed up with. Twenty-one stars make it up, out of which I can only recall two: Betelgeuse and Rigel. Rigel is an extremely hot star with a blue gleam, whereas Betelgeuse is colder but still warm and red, and both are to die out someday. Of course, there are many more things I could say about them if I knew, but the only facts I remember are those. When they die, stars usually turn into something called a supernova, which is a huge explosion.

"Some stars burn out sooner than others, and Scorpius' star, unfortunately and unfairly, seems to be due much sooner than ours. And while his beloved Betelgeuse will throw an impressive tantrum involving very hot temperatures and a blinding shine somewhere in the universe when its day comes, and will make itself noticed, Scorpius won't get a chance to throw this stellar tantrum. He will fade away, silently, and maybe he'll throw a tantrum, I don't know, but it won't be a proper one. Of course, it will be something impressive and to remember, because sweet Merlin, I don't know about you but I personally have never seen him angry, but it still won't be what he deserves. 

"For you, Scorpius, the whole universe should collapse. I pray everyday that you live longer, but when the stars can't listen to me anymore and you have to go, the explosion should scorch us all, and not 'us' as in the seven folks at the Slytherin dorm, but 'us' as in every particle of matter in the Milky Way. Some star deaths are more impressive than other star deaths, but yours should reboot the universe to the start.

"I don't even know what I'm saying anymore, whether it still makes sense or not, and maybe I'm just rambling because the mere thought of losing you is so frightening, I'm not even able to read a stupid paper out loud. But even if I've talked nonsense for the past four minutes, here's what I really wanted to say: Just like Rose said, love has no limits beyonds the ones we want to impose ourselves, and is infinite even in a finite period of time—in this case, an extremely finite period of time. And maybe the Sun will burn us all to a crisp tomorrow, and maybe a black hole will swallow us up for dinner, and maybe a UFO is about to abduct us all, but even if any of these happens, you can be certain that love will still be infinite, and mine for you will. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for having broken into your train cabin a year ago, Scorpius, my dearest friend. Even if we weren't meant to graduate together and force our children to befriend each other for the sake of having an excuse to hang out, I am grateful. You found the wreck I was and showed me a new Albus and turned me into a better person. And I'm grateful."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to update yesterday, as the summary promises, but then I came up with all of these moving speeches and couldn't not include them. Rose's is dedicated to my uncle, for whom I wrote a similar one a year ago. Te quiero, tío. Mucho más de lo que jamás imaginaste.


	24. Chapter 24

Apollo and Helio left shortly after for their Quidditch practice, and so did Teddy for a teachers' meeting. And then it was Rose, Scorpius and I again, just like when we were in our first year and things weren't so complicated. Only, we weren't whiny kids complaining about our surnames anymore—or, at least, _I_ wasn't. Maybe it had brought me pain and loss, maybe it hadn't been all rainbows and unicorns galloping towards the setting sun, but my friendship with Scorpius had blessed me in many ways, and one of them was some perspective on fame. Now I knew there were more important things than a few newspapers running their ink, something old Albus would never have believed.

"Congratulations, guys," Scorpius sniffed, and sneezed. "Dddyou made me cdy." Before he could say anything, I got his honey-scented handkerchiefs out of my pocket and handed him one.

"Mission achieved." I high-fived Rose, who smiled weakly, off her food despite the bitten sandwich she was holding. On the radio, Bob Dylan had long ago stepped aside, and now it was Queen's _Show Must Go On_ that came off the speaker. Smooth's sense of opportunity never failed to amaze me.

I thought of Freddie Mercury, one of Aunt Hermione's favourite musicians, and I thought of his death, too. If my memory served me right, he had passed away too early, too young, too talented. AIDS had taken him, one of the greatest singers the world had ever known, and hadn't stopped to consider whether it would hurt anyone or whether it was fair. 

Maybe—no, definitely, it was the same with Scorpius' magiconecrosis. It wouldn't stop to wonder whether Scorpius' departure would hurt us all or whether it was right. Death was going to simply take his hand and lead him away from us, and not because he was cruel or sadistic, but rather because it was the way nature flowed. For the first time, I tried not to blame the world while I thought of how his disease had affected _him_ and _us_.

Hadn't he been sick, he wouldn't have been snoozing at that empty carriage. He wouldn't have grown up indoors, wouldn't have turned into the amazing boy he was and would never have talked to either Rose or me. Hadn't Scorpius been sick, we wouldn't have met, and I wouldn't have wished for Slytherin. I may have been put there, but it wouldn't have had the same meaning, the same purpose, wouldn't have felt the same. Hadn't he been sick, I would never have shared my passion for 'The Lost Crown', he would never have gotten Lovegood's adress for us, and we would never have been to Salazar's Pit. I would be an unsufferable and much more whingeing kid, still a self-centered brat throwing pity parties all day round, and I would—of course—know a lot less about astronomy.

Don't get me wrong. Scorpius dying still pained, felt horrible and completely unfair, and was hard to accept. But, right then, I could picture myself coming to terms with it some day.

 

In the end, after we tidied up Scorpius' living room and devoured the only sandwich the hungry twins had left untouched, I convinced Mrs Malfoy to allow him to Floo-travel to my house for a very Muggle afternoon of films and popcorn. Inbetween worry and relief, she even checked every film's summary to make sure they were appropiate and not some kind of weird perversion. It sounds slightly disturbing, but she was just a mother caring for her child, so I didn't allow myself to judge her. She didn't deserve it, and who was I to say anything, anyway? I myself weighed every word before speaking just in case I accidentally slipped in anything that could be remotely close to a reminder of his illness.

And so there we were half an hour after, our legs tangled in a mess on the sofa as Mulan dressed up to visit the Matchmaker. Mum had prepared enormous bowls of popcorn for us, and even managed to drag Lily away from the room. How many dolls she would have to buy to compensate my little sister for it, I didn't know. 

"Wait, so Mulan is the only child from the Fa family, right?" Scorpius checked, looking up at me.

"Right," Rose said. "That's why she must 'bring honour to her family'. And now either move closer or freeze a little, guys—I want the blankets, too."

Knowing that Scorpius was always cold, we had brought in a load of blankets to wrap him up with. After the prefuneral, his death felt even closer and realer, so I had insisted, no matter how weird it was, on sitting with him. 'With him' as in 'arms around his scrawny and shaky body, he sitting on my lap'. It was even hotter than in his bed under the three pounds of wool and cotton, but I refused to have it any other way. Having him in my arms felt safer. As if, in that way, I could stop him from slipping away from me. And also, we didn't quite fit in the small leather couch.

Blue, red, green and purple danced across our faces and reflected in the family pictures' glazing as Mulan messed up for good with the Matchmaker. Honestly, it was one of the saddest scenes of the film. I mean, she was being called a dishonour just because her grandma had slipped a grasshopper into her dress. Failing to serve some tea didn't make her any less worthy, but everyone tried to force her into believing the opposite. 

"I hate that woman," Rose announced as soon as Mulan ran to her house, crying. "Who does she think she is?"

"The Matchmaker, right?" asked Scorpius, tossing under the blankets. "At least, that's what I got."

"Eat popcorn and shut up," I advised him, trying not to burst into laughter, "she's on the verge of her feminist speech."

"Oh. Is that supposed to be a bad thing?" He obeyed and reached for the nearest bowl, which was halfway through despite his usually scarce appetite. Maybe eating junk food wasn't the best idea we could've had, but at least he was eating something.

I followed suit. "Absolutely not. Just don't interrupt her, and you'll hear one of the most amazing rambles ever on women's social roles."

Said ramble took Rose a little longer than usual, almost until _I'll Make A Man Out Of You_ started. Luckily, I could recite every single dialogue by heart, so I sushed her in time. I'm completely for women's rights, equality and feminism, but there are a few sacred things in this life and _I'll Make A Man Out Of You_ is one of them.

"Rose," I chimed in, feeling a knot of urgence in the pit of my stomach, "finish later. It's my song!"

"Alright. But as soon as it's over, I'm giving my last argument. Women aren't just beings you can objectify and treat as if they were uglier or prettier pots that—"

" _Let's get down to business,_ " I cut her, " _to defeat the Huns! Did they send me daughters when I asked for sons?_ _You're the saddest bunch I've ever met, but you can bet, before we're through..._ " I grabbed Rose's shirt and pulled her closer, looked into her eye, " _Mistress, I'll make a man out of you._ " 

Scorpius laughed in my arms, and shame caught me by surprise. Confused, I almost trailed off in the middle of the second strophe. Was he laughing at my singing voice because it was horrible, like a cat scratching a blackboard? Or maybe because I was so into a children's film despite being almost thirteen? But the Disney Fever was too intense, and not singing along while Captain Li Shang tried not to choke his useless rookie crew was simply not an option.

"I'm very happy being a woman, thank you, Al. _Be a man_!" Rose shouted enthusiastically when the chorus came.

" _We must be swift as a coursing river,_ " I sang, elated to have her doing the choir thing. " _With all the force of a great typhoon, with all the strength of the raging fire... Mysterious as the dark side of the moon!_ "

Every soldier was bullying Mulan onscreen, and I should be sorry for her, but the song was too uplifting for anyone to feel sad. Seriously, how had Scorpius managed to survive without Disney? How was he managing not to sing along? Mysteries, mysteries, mysteries. The world was so full of them.

When I nailed the last note and all the soldiers howled a 'Hiya!', Mum shyly knocked on the door and opened it the slightlest bit, which was nonetheless enough for Lily to sneak inside the room. 

"I WANT TO WATCH MULAN!" she screamed, throwing herself into Rose's arms. Her cheeks were puffy and scarlet, eyes red from crying. "Mum, tell Albus to let me watch Mulan with them!"

"Albus..." Mum pleaded. More than asking her son to let his sister stay and watch a film, she looked as though she were asking her worst enemy to do—well, whatever you'd never ask your worst enemy to do. She looked as if she were about to cry herself, so I couldn't say no.

"But—Okay, okay," I sighed, defeated by my mother's puppy eyes. Lily let out a giggle and I looked down at her, scowling. "But you must be quiet, alright? We all know what happens next, but Scor doesn't, so allow him to get every single scene and, for Merlin's sake, no spoilers. Goes for you both, Lily and Rose. No. Spoilers."

When the bath scene came in, it was so loud that I almost missed his whisper. "You used to call me Scorpius."

Instead of answering, I squeezed him tighter and pressed my lips against the blond mess atop his head, heart clenched in a fist. Stars, could you listen to me? To you, I prayed. To whatever or whoever is up there, if there's anything or anyone at all—to you, I prayed. Universe, to you I payed not to restore the Life-Death balance just yet. 

Maybe I would come to terms with him being gone, but I still needed to call him Scorpius a few more times.

 

Immediately after _Mulan_ came _Hercules_ , and again, I couldn't understand how he had managed to survive without Walt Disney. Every reference and joke Rose, Lily and I fired at each other was a complete mystery to him, and the list of To Watch Films did nothing but grow, grow and grow. For Merlin's sake, he didn't know who Peter Pan was.

"Hey! This is not true," he protested when Hera kissed baby Hercules' temple. "Hercules was the son of Zeus and a mortal girl, Alcmene. Hera wasn't his mother, she wanted him dead!"

"You're wrong," Lily said calmly.

Scorpius gave her a crooked smile. "Really?"

"Yes. Zeus is married to Hera, and Hercules is Zeus' son. So he must be Hera's son, too." She flashed a knows-it-all smile to us before paying full attention to the film again.

Me neither. After living with James, Teddy, Victoire, Rose, Molly and me for her entire life, I couldn't understand Lily's complete innocence either. 

"Is she serious?" Scorpius whispered to me. His hand fell to my leg as he readjusted his position, and he left it there. It was surprisingly warm, to be Scorpius—which meant a few degrees lower than the average.

"Completely."

He didn't say anything else about the free interpretation and twisting of the Classical myths until we got to Phil. That's when he got all fired up.

"But it was Chiron who trained them! I mean, alright. You make up a happy and successful marriage between Zeus and Hera for the kids, I get it. But was it so hard to draw a centaur instead of a half-goat fat dwarf?"

"Hey!" Rose punched his shoulder. "Not a single word on Phil if not to praise him. You mess up with the half-goat fat dwarf, you mess up with me."

"Ditto. High-five, Rose," I called, holding my hand up. 

Scorpius mumbled some nonsense, mouth against the blankets. "The original myths were much better. Soap operas wherever you stepped."

" _If there's a prize for rotten judgement..._ " Lily started. Her moment to shine had come.

" _Who you think you're kidding? He's the Earth and Heaven to ya, try to keep it hidden, honey we can see right through ya—Girl ya can't conceal it, we know how you're feelin', who you're thinking of!_ " As always, Rose did the muses' part while Lily screamed Meg's lines, somehow ruining them but somehow rocking them. Hers was one of those voices not fully childish, but not fully teen, either—a marvellous thing inbetween.

"The fat muse must be the Matchmaker's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother," Scorpius muttered, grinning goofily as he watched the girls giving it all in their duet. "Talia, isn't she?"

"Five points," I nodded. "How do you manage to remember all the characteres' names and faces?"

"I'm really, really clever." When I elbowed him—with great difficulty, as he was sitting on my lap—, he laughed. "And also, there aren't many more things I want to pay attention to."

"So it's almost like a History of Magic lesson," I deducted.

"Basically. Only, Binns has never sung to us about the Dwarf Revolution, and sweet Merlin, Hades' hairdo is so fabulous."

"There are matches in the kitchen," I offered. "We pour a little gasoline all over, and ready."

"Really? I must warn you, if the flames aren't blue, I don't want it."

"Worry not. I'll dye them blue, if necessary."

"Alright, then. I leave it to your care."

No one would be silly enough to let me do anything with fire remotely near them, not even kidding, but then again, no one was Scorpius Malfoy. No one was as suicidal and careless about their own lives.

"By the way, I like that Megara girl," he said. "She's clever, she's strong, she's independent. Reminds me of Belena in The Lost Crown."

" _No spoilers_ ," I warned Rose when she turned her head, smiling like a maniac.

"But—"

"In the sixth book, Rowena—"

"ALRIGHT," she shouted, interrupting me and covering her ears with both hands. "FalalalalalaIcan'thearyoufalalalalalala."

"Good girl. Remember I told you she hates spoilers?" I asked Scorpius, who was looking at her with a puzzled look. "Well, I meant it."

"Thanks, I guess?"

When Meg died and the Underworld part came, he thanked me again. This time, truly.

 

 _Mulan_ and _Hercules_ were over, and we made a small pause to stretch our legs, go to the bathroom and drink some water to avoid dehydratation due to the salty popcorn. Scorpius felt weak after nearly three hours and a half of sitting without moving, which was a little odd.

"But you spend your days lying in bed and don't feel this way." It was _really, really_ odd.

"I'm not tense when I'm in bed," he answered, blowing the fringe off his face as he bent down to tie the laces of his shoe.

"And now you're tense? Why?"

"Albus, we both saw Meg die. And you wonder why I'm tense?"

Good point.

After the break, we chose the next movies we would be seeing and went back to our original positions. Eyes all teary and souls all emotional when the last scene of _Big Hero 6_ faded to black _,_ I realised it was late. Not late as in '8-PM-late'. Late as in '12-PM-late'.

"Sweet Merlin, your mother is _so_ going to kill us," I wailed, frightened. If there was anyone who had stricter curfews than me, it was Scorpius. "So _so_ going to kill us."

"Or maybe not," he said.

His nonchalant tone slowed down my racing heart a beat.

"What?"

"If I stay the night, she may assume I, well, fell asleep or something," he suggested. "And I was so, so tired, and looked so, so cute as I snored, that you didn't want to wake me, so your parents let me stay over. And you did send an owl, but we may assume it was old and got lost."

Sweet Merlin, the boy was a malevolent mind. 

"Are you sure? She'll be dead worried," I tried, even though I knew I had fallen for his plan already. It was Rose's duty to be the voice of reason—I was too weak. But she was in the bathroom, so I would have to do.

"No, because I warned her that this may or may not happen."

He was such a genious.

And so we watched _Treasure Planet_ and _Peter Pan_. After the first half of the latter, Scorpius fell asleep in my arms, exhausted from all the emotions the day had brought. At first, he just rested his head against my chest, but then his eyes started closing, and opening every now so often, the time between wake and wake each time longer. Finally, when he closed them for good, I paused the DVD and turned the TV off. Rose slept soundly against the other arm of the sofa, and Mum had come retrieve Lily a movie and a half ago.

I was the only one awake, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy it. Felt Scorpius against my skin, sick but still very alive. Each of his breaths caressed my neck, and each time he moved, I felt it vividly. I felt him fighting death and cancer, battling his stay in this world, and I also felt something eerie in my cheeks, like ants running up and down them. 

Hope?

Trying not to pay attention, I reclined Scorpius' body and lied down myself, so that his back wouldn't ache in the morning, and closed my eyes, unsure as to what to expect but grateful for still being able to hold him and feel his warmth.

And that's how Scorpius' Last Good Day went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh we all needed a little break from all the drama and angst, me as well.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Coldplay's Viva La Vida while writing this and Merlin, I'm such a sucker for angst. IMPORTANT: Please play "My Immortal", by Evanescence, and make sure you got your handkerchiefs nearby
> 
> (Why do I feel like this chapter was such a disappointment?)

Scorpius Malfoy was put into a coma seven days after his prefuneral, when he woke to a choking sensation in the back of his throat only to start throwing up all over himself shortly after, unable to stop and unable to call anyone. When he didn't answer his mother's insistent knocks on the door and she stormed into his room, she found her son a sick shade of pale and stinking of last night's dinner, seized by gag reflexes and holding his stomach.

Needless to say, St Mungo's nurses were sent to Malfoy Manor in no time. This time, they didn't let him stay.

I was in Charms when Mrs Lancaster shyly asked for me to exit the class, and then told me the horrible news. "He is to be put into a coma," she said quietly. "The Malfoys do not wish to see him suffer... Well... Through his last days."

Of course, I had known that he was going. I had talked to his parents mere hours ago, when I left after my daily visit, and Mr Malfoy had whispered, "It could be tonight," as he held back tears, but still, when Mrs Lancaster sat with me in the stairs and told me, everything inside of me collapsed. At some point, she began crying and said she was sorry, and I began crying and said I was sorry, too, and then she gave me permission to miss as many classes as I needed to. She wouldn't stop saying how he wasn't going to suffer anymore, how maybe he could even make it through, but I couldn't listen. All I heard were Mr Malfoy's words over and over again. It could be tonight, it could be tonight, it could be tonight it could be tonight itcouldbetonightitcouldbetonight. It _had_ been that night.

We then looked for Rose and she started weeping and cursing with words I would've never expected from her and holding her chest as if, in that way, she could keep herself from breaking down, and while we both tried to gasp some air between sob and sob, she reached for my hand and squeezed, burying her face in my chest. And I buried mine atop her ginger curls, and they were smooth and smelled like flowers, and it didn't matter because Scorpius was still about to die and the black hole in my chest was still there, voracious, clawing at my flesh and scarring me with every heartbeat. Every second worse than the last, and better than the next. 

Good old Dracula was much bloodier than Muggles portray him. There are some conspiracy theories they have made up that he wasn't a vampire, but merely a demented count with a little too literal bloodlust that led him to killing many people throwing them to a pit of stakes. While it is true that he was a demented count with a little too literal bloodlust that led him to killing many people, it is also true that he was a vampire, and a very powerful one indeed. After a life of around four or five centuries, he felt the urge to show off his adventurous life as a searcher for the most delicious bloods in the world, and thus _The Count: An Autobiographical Adventure_ came to be. Among the many types of killings he proudly admitted to having performed, empalation was confirmed and even praised as one of his favourites, it being slow and painful.

The point is, Dracula's empalation method consisted of pushing the poor mortal into a pit with long, sharp wooden stakes waiting anxiously at the bottom, and the only known survivor, interviewed by every existing wizarding newspaper before he died from a stroke, had described the experience as infernal. According to him, he could feel every stake when they pierced through his flesh and tore his skin and organs apart, every little inch infinitely painful. His whole body had felt, and still felt in nightmares, as if someone had set fire to it and then poked it with a sword. In his mind had unchained endless explosions of agony and suffering, and he had pleaded Dracula to please, please kill him. The Transilvanian Count hadn't, of course, as much joy as he took in watching his victims suffer, and that had led to the man somehow managing to scape, but you get what I mean.

I felt like that poor man now. Every second turned into a new stake that pierced a different spot in my body, and ached and burnt like nothing I had ever experienced, and all I could do was squeeze Rose's hand until my knuckles where chalk white and pray for it to be a joke, for everything to be over, for someone to come and wake me from such a horrible nightmare.

But no one woke me.

Finally, we Floo-travelled to St Mungo's to visit him. The nurse at the counter looked down on us, and wouldn't give us the room number, and I was about to hex her when Mrs Malfoy appeared round the corner, with no make-up on and huge tears running down her cheeks, and raced towards us to wrap us up in a bear hug.

"He's still here," she said in a husky voice, broken from tears and exhaustion. "You... He wants to see you. Room thirteen. You know the floor."

Thirteen. His room was the bloody number thirteen. 

His lucky number.

A paper airplane crashed against my nose when I opened the door. Ten or so glided across his room, and every zero comma seconds, one appeared in a burst of green light and joined the others in their errant fly. It looked like a James Potter idea.

"Hello," Scorpius coughed.

Oh, Scorpius. 

His cheeks were blotchy, but with a greenish colour I instantly wanted to cry at. His eyes, the amazing silvery eyes no one else in the world could show off, were completely dull, the shade of a dirty swing that has been outside and under the rain for too long. The marble skin that had always made him look like a character from a Classical painting, its supernatural gleam, they were both gone, replaced by a paper-thin, almost transparent layer of cells that were most probably dying one after the other, tearing him away from me.

"Hey," Rose answered, her voice quivering. "Hey, Scorpius. How are you?"

He let out a crooked bark. "I am, for the moment."

 _Flash!_ A paper plane appeared in front of my eyes.

"A lot of people... Are sending me notes," Scorpius panted. "Your brother... Was first."

Without asking for permission, I grabbed the newest one and read it. Then another one, and the next one, and one more.

_I miss you already._

_You'll live forever in our hearts!_

_You were such a great person I'm sorry I didn't see you more often, bro._

They were Scorpius' paper planes, and for that I didn't shred them, but I wanted to. Each of them deserved nothing better than being thrown to the bin. No one had bothered give Scorpius a chance, no one had tried to get to know him, but of course, they ran the masquerade when serious drama stroke.

I hated them all so much. It was like bitter acid in my throat, a dark ooze that burnt with the desire to hurt them all a lot. 

"Albus," Scorpius called. He wriggled under the sheets, clearly in pain, and it was enough to bring me to my knees besides him and start crying.

Look, it just wasn't fair. It was scary, and horrible, and a crime, and no one was ready to let him go. Even if he had come to terms with it, in a way, I hadn't. And I couldn't watch him fade away like a birthday candle that has already melted into a puddle of bright blue wax, and is just a remnant of the wick curling as it is burnt to ashes. I didn't want to live in a universe where Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy no longer existed.

"Don't cry," he whispered. "Someday, we'll see each other again. I promise."

"Sweet Merlin, don't lie to me. You don't know that."

"You neither."

I didn't want him to die.

Careful not to squash any part of him, I climbed onto the bed and hugged him, and cried even more when I felt him so emaciated, barely skin and bones and cancer, the Merlinforsaken magic cancer. It was a part of him already, and I couldn't hate it just as I couldn't hate his lungs or his leg or his hair or his lips, but I couldn't love it, either. 

"Please," I pleaded him, "don't go. If... If you love us the tiniest bit, don't go. I'll hate you forever."

"I'm afraid... I don't get a saying," he breathed, burying his face in my neck. "I'm sorry, Albus... That you had to... Suffer as well."

_Crack.  
_

I was made of glass, and the first wide crack had opened, stretching across my chest.

"Don't you dare," I warned him, forcing the tears back. "Don't you dare say you've been a burden. Just don't you dare, Malfoy."

"But I have."

"Shut up. You've been the most amazing person, the best friend I could've possibly asked for. Shut up and don't talk shit about yourself, or I'll hate you forever, again."

"There aren't... Many things I can do... Without earning your... Eternal hate." A violent series of coughs and spasm shook his fragile body, and I feared he may literally break there and then.

_Crack._

The second wide crack had opened, and ran down my side.

Rose climbed onto the bed, too, eyes puffy and red, and brought him closer without a word. There wasn't room for the three of us, but we managed. For each other, we would've managed under any condition.

For Scorpius, I would've endured anything, done everything.

 

My parents showed up at St Mungo's shortly after Rose and I arrived. Mum wept as she held Mrs Malfoy, who was crying as well, while Dad sat next to Mr Malfoy, a hand on his shoulder, and didn't say anything. Both of them's eyes were fixed on the white tiles of the floor. None said a thing.

"Scorpius, sweetheart," Mum softly greeted him when she enter the Lucky Number Room. "Hello."

"Hello, Mrs Potter." I pulled my sleeve and cleaned the thin trail of drool that ran down his cheek. He couldn't close his mouth fully, for his lips were swollen.

"Thank you for everything, Scorpius Malfoy," Dad said behind her, looping an arm across her shoulders to squeeze her against him. "You've... You're a smart, charming young man, and it's a pleasure to have had the chance to know you. Farewell, child."

Mrs Malfoy's sobs were audible even though she was across the corridor. 

_Crack_.

The third wide crack appeared, nearly breaking my head in two.

 

More people showed up. Teddy and Victoire both kissed his forehead. Lily held his hand and sang him Pocahontas' song, and gave him a drawing of Baymax. MacPherson didn't bother showing up, but Zabini did, and he even held Scorpius' hand. Mrs Lancaster dropped by to offer her condolences and spoke to him quietly, in his ear, something that made him smile. Mrs Lidewij came, too, and Mr Longbottom.  Apollo and Helio couldn't stop crying, not even when Rose offered Helio her shoulder to cry on—seeing the fifth-year Slytherin hug my cousin for support, to prevent himself from breaking down, was somehow unbearable. His aunt Daphne and her husband, a very tall and broad-shouldered man, couldn't stop caressing his cheeks.

But the real drama came when his grandparents appeared.

Old Lucius Malfoy looked like a conspirer from ancient times, his long platinum hair pulled back into a ponytail that fell down to his waist. Dressed in black fully, his sharp features seemed to have been modelled with a knife, carved into something arrogant and cold. His wife, Narcissa, didn't match his Ice King appearance—there were tears in her eyes as she walked up to her grandchild and fell to her knees, holding his hand against her lips as she cried. Lucius put a hand on her shoulder and opened his mouth to say something, but then he spotted me lying besides Scorpius and froze.

"A Potter!" he roared at last, frozen anger in his voice. "What are you doing with him, Hyperion!? We have raised you to look for decent companies!"

"Lucius," Mrs Malfoy pleaded from the door, leaning on her sister Daphne for support, "please, not Scorpius' friends. Not today."

"He can't be friends with a Potter," he spitted, pointing at me with his jet black cane. "They are scum! They are our ruin, child, and you have befriended one!"

"Don't you dare threaten Scorpius!" I screamed, feeling dark inside. It was as if my insides had been filled with something fuming and dense, something I was ready to throw up all over Lucius Malfoy if he gave me the slightest chance. "Lower that thing, and don't shout to him ever again."

"You little cockroach," the old man grunted, his nostrils growing wide. "Shall you ever adress me like that again, I will personally make you regret it."

Dad stepped inside. The room was beginning to be crowded, and it wouldn't be long before a nurse kicked us all out. "Lucius, you won't touch a single hair of my son's head," he icily said. "We are not here to fight, so please don't ignite a war on something that's completely out of place."

Lucius Malfoy's cheeks were bright scarlet. At least he was in an appropiate place, in case rage gave him a heart attack.

"The Potter family, I see. What—"

"Father."

Draco Malfoy's voice was sharper than any blade, colder than any of the Poles and full of pain. A storm raged on inside of him, and the gale that had unleashed in his soul's echoes tainted his words with a dark bitterness. There have been few men more tormented than he was right then.

"Draco, you won't tell me you're on their side!" The old man was outraged. His wife, Narcissa, Scorpius' beloved granny, was looking at him wide-eyed, shaky but silent.

"I'm on my son's side," Mr Malfoy replied, "and if that means I am on the Potters' side, then yes, I am on their side. We have not met here to start a war over what happened twenty years ago, Father. If that is your purpose, then I must ask you to leave. But I will not let you harm Scorpius in any ways, neither with your words nor through his dearest friend."

"DEAREST FRIEND!?" Lucius roared. "YOU ARE A DISGRACE, HYPERION!"

"ENOUGH," Mr Malfoy shouted. He flipped his wand out of his pocket and pointed at his father with it, a wildfire burning in his eyes. "Please, go. It is a very sad day, and I hoped we would not have to end up like this, but you have left us no other option. Father, I must tell you to leave."

"You will regret this, Draco," Lucius warned. "You will all regret it! Allying with the piece of filth that brought our family down—I thought I had taught you some common sense."

Those were the last words Scorpius ever heard from his grandfather.

"Father, I will call the security guards if you refuse to leave immediately."

Lucius finally obeyed, but not without looking at me again. He stabbed me with a dark gaze gushing hatred and loathing, and muttered something under his breath before Apparating.

His wife, Narcisa, started weeping harder the moment he left. "Scorpius, my little boy," she cried. "You will never be a disgrace to us. You heard me? Never."

"Doesn't matter... Grandma." But he didn't sound as if it didn't matter.

I didn't get off the bed because I physically couldn't let go of him, frightened that it may mean letting go of him once and for all. But I knew I ought to. Because I had just provoked a quarrel between his father and his grandfather by just being there.

 _Crack_.

The fourth wide crack, like ivy, curled around every limb of mine. From the inside, flashes of a completely black light leaked out.

No Reparo could fix me.

 

Mr and Mrs Malfoy couldn't stop thanking me and apologising for Lucius' words when Scorpius fell asleep soundly, not troubled for the first time in a long while. The nurses warned us not to look as they worked their wands and potions to induce the peaceful coma that would keep him alive and slow down the magiconecrosis as long as possible, but the three of us looked nonetheless. The smile on his face as he fell asleep with the three of us around him was the first felt grin he had showed in a long while.

"Goodbye," he whispered as his breath slowed down. "I... love you all. It has been... A pleasure living... With you around... Tell Rose."

Rose had gone home with Aunt Hermione, who had cancelled a meeting to visit Scorpius. She couldn't bear being there when he closed his eyes for the last time. He wouldn't be dying yet, just falling asleep forever. And she couldn't stand the thought of it.

My best friend sighed and closed his eyes.

 

After they induced the coma, the nurses began cleaning the vials of potions they had used to keep him alive when he was awake. It felt unrealistic, as if the Malfoys and I were watching the whole proccess from inside a fortress of glass.

Inside our castle of glass, we wept and wept. "Scorpius wouldn't be the young man he has become without you, boy," Astoria Malfoy whispered into my ear as she hugged me.  A lifeless puppet with only a horrible emptiness inside, my body didn't answer to it in any way. I just let her do what she needed to in order to stay sane. "We have contracted a debt with you for life."

The fat nurse left.

"I'm sorry that his grandfather said that because of me," I murmured weakly. "I'm sorry Mr Malfoy had to argue with his own father because of me. I'm sorry for every bad thing that has happened to him because of me."

"Do not be silly," Mr Malfoy mumbled. "You have never been bad for our son. And believe me, I was eager to see every possible wrongdoing your friendship could hold."

An orangeish light entered the room through the clean window, and the trees' branches' shadows danced across the opposite wall, like the fur of a tiger. Some stars began to shine shyly in the sky, and the Sun was lower each second, ready to couch. It was a too beautiful moment for such a horrible reality.

Then it struck me.

"Mr and Mrs Malfoy, I... I want to ask you for something."

It was crazy. No, it was nuts. Most probably, it wouldn't work, and the odds were it would just be an unecessary prolongation of everyone's suffering for the sake of a selfish need and a hopeless idea. But I had to try.

_Cra—_

The fifth crack menaced to let the dark thing inside of me break loose, but I gulped and fought back. Reaching for Scorpius' hand over the sheets, I looked for the strength to resist and didn't bow down to desperation and sadness. I held onto _that_ thought for dear life.

I had come up with a vague idea, a desperate one, and I wasn't going throw it away. Even if it just got me, _us_ , more pain. The odds were terrible. But I was going to try.

"What is it, son?" She rubbed her eyes, exhausted. And not only physically.

"You can count on us," Mr Malfoy added, trying to show me a smile. "We owe you our son's happiness, after all."

They had gone through so much. I found myself wishing they would find their peace of mind someday. Astoria and Draco Malfoy were a brave couple who had had to face a horrible reality, and boldly endured everything life had thrown at them. And now that I may have the key to helping them, even if it hurt and ended up horribly bad..

I made my choice.

I told Scorpius' parents what I had in mind.

"I need you to keep him alive."


	26. Chapter 26

Scorpius' parents were standing in front of his room's door, hugging everybody who had waited outside while they said their last goodbyes to their son before the potions and spells put him to sleep. When they noticed me, still there, the corridor almost empty already, they both smiled through the tears and drew near. I got up from the uncomfortable plastic chair and let Mrs Malfoy hug me, clutch onto me as she wept a little, and when she was strong again, Mr Malfoy coughed and offered me his hand. The handshake was awkward, and proof of how crooked things were. Mr Malfoy had never touched me before. 

When I first saw the Malfoys at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, they had looked like elite top-models to me, but now they seemed so old and consumed. Eye sockets hollowed, skin blotchy and dull from exhaustion, chapped lips. They had bottomed out, too. 

"He loved you so much," Mrs Malfoy gasped, rubbing her eye. Stains of black mascara covered her fingers, and she looked as if someone had punched her, but she didn't even notice. "He really did. Not as—not as in puppy love or anything."

"You made his life better, Albus," added Mr Malfoy, nodding and pulling his wife into a hug. "So much better. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts. For making our son happy. Happier than we could have ever made him."

I wanted to say that there was nothing to thank, that it should be me thanking them for all the distance they had gone for the sake of Scorpius' friendship with me, but my throat had twisted and turned into a complicated and aching lump, and all I could do was nodding and blinking back the tears. And they nodded too, and then Mrs Malfoy hugged me again, and my chest hurt a lot but the mere thought that hers ached, too, was a little relieving, because at least someone understood. Someone knew how horrible it was, and if we leaned onto each other, maybe we could get through. 

"Albus, about what you have suggested..." Mr Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair. Gel couldn't tame it anymore after a whole day of pain and darkness and loss and exhaustion and emptiness and goodbyes, so many goodbyes, and tears, so many tears, and now it fell over his eyes, as if it wanted to keep him from seeing the horrors that lay in front of him, beneath Scorpius' room's closed door. "Do you—do you mean it?"

Mrs Malfoy looked up to me. The faint gleam of tears in her eyes felt like a kick in the stomach. No mother should ever weep their son. 

"Of course I do," I whispered. Of course I did.

"Because—you might... We might..." They looked at each other. Mr Malfoy was shaking, breathing like a horse after a race. "Maybe it will succeed, and after all, he cannot get worse."

I'm pretty sure you know how it feels to be alone, in the dark. Picture yourself in your room at night, for example. You can't sleep, although you would like to very much, because you're tired from the day, and you have to attend your classes tomorrow, and lying awake and staring at a ceiling you can't see feels pointless, stupid and time-wasting. But you can't, because your body went commando for some reason and refuses to sleep a wink even if it's exhausted and aches to just lie under the covers and forget about existing. So you just wait for some miracle to happen, growing more anguished and anxious every second. 

That's how losing Scorpius felt. Even if I hadn't lost him just yet, I wasn't stupid. The odds were bad, real bad. I was just a kid who blew up even the simplest spells. He had fought for too long. I was staring at the ceiling, waiting for him to turn on the lights and lullaby me to sleep with his presence and the certainty that he would live to see another day, but he wasn't going to enter the room. And maybe one day the night would end, but right now, it was twelve PM and I knew I was about to enter the darkest hours.

But I meant what I had told the Malfoys. Maybe I wasn't bright like Rose, or witty like Teddy, or creative like The Goblins, or intelligent like Aunt Hermione. Maybe I wasn't a great wizard. Maybe I wasn't a great person, either. But I could work hard. Everyone could. And I could try. My idea was weak and almost utopic, and would most probably fail. But I could try. We could try.

If the Malfoys were willing to let me, I could try to save their son still.

Inside the dark room, I turned the radio on.

 

"You are the bravest person I know," whispered Rose. "But are you sure you want to do this? If it doesn't work, in the end... You know, you could—it could be even worse."

A smooth breeze made us shiver. "Yes," I answered simply. I could have bombed her with thousands of reasons why trying was worth it, but they weren't necessary. Rose was Scorpius' friend, too. Rose's gaze was lost and haunted, too. Rose hadn't gone back to Hogwarts, either. Rose understood.

We were sitting in Grandma Molly's backyard, or better, against Grandma Molly's backyard's fence. A river ran beneath The Furrow II, the one in which we had nearly lost Hugo, and even though Rose loathed the place and hadn't stepped outside the backyard since the accident, she had been the one to suggest we went there. Maybe because she secretly hoped the place, where someone we loved had come back from the dead once already, would work its magic again. Or maybe because it made her sad, and right then, she was on the mood to be in a place that made her sad. So that it could all bottle up and finally allow her to cry until there were no more tears to shed and she felt a little less overwhelmed by life.

Birds chased after worms and insects in a desperate attempt to perpetuate the trophic chains, while the river sang its song, the trees' leaves rustling as a choir. Over our heads, grey clouds scattered across the sky menaced to break their rain loose. They were a threat we didn't mind.

"So you're going to try anyway," Rose said, distracting me from the water symphony.

"Yes," I repeated.

She didn't say anything for a long while. 

"I'm with you, then," she muttered. Eyes still fixed on the river, she reached for my hand on the grass and intertwined her fingers with mine. "Anything you need, I will provide. I wish..."

"You wish what?"

An earthquake shook her sigh. "I wish I were like you, Albus. And I mean it—you're loyal, you're brave, you're ready to do whatever it takes for your friend. You... You're willing to sacrifice everything for the mere possibility of bringing him back."

"Rose, you make me sound like a good person," I whispered. A grasshopper jumped atop my knee, and we stared at each other for a second before he leaped away from me.

"Because you are, Albus."

Something in my stomach moved. Maybe the piranhas that had been chewing my insides lately were hungry again. "I'm not a good person, Rose. Only selfish. Life and death are a natural cycle, and everyone should know better than to mess up with them, but here I am, trying to defy them both because I'm not ready to let go of Scorpius just yet."

A drop landed on my nose. Thunder roared, and the little sunlight that had been reflecting on the river's waters disappeared. The smooth breeze was gone, replaced by a furious gale that tried to seize our hair and clothes, but we didn't move. The storm around us made the storm inside us feel a little less devastating.

"Whatever, Albus. You want to drown in self-pity and misery again? Whatever. I don't care about your excuses. You are going to try to save Scorpius when pretty much everyone else has given up already, some a long time ago, and that makes you the boldest person I know. Maybe that means I should go out more often, I don't know. But I'm hardly ever wrong, and today isn't the 'hardly ever' day."

While we got drenched, Rose lowered her head until her forehead rested against her bent knees. Soaked locks of copper hair stuck to her neck and her shoulders when I turned to look at her, and I took my time to comb them with my fingers and braid them. It was a horrible braid. But it was a braid. And I was a horrible human being right then, but I was still a human being. And maybe, just maybe, human beings were such because they weren't gods, and maybe, just maybe, it was alright for human beings to be weak sometimes. To chase after impossibles. To dream of achieving the unachievable.

As we stood up, Rose got her wand out and muttered a spell, casting a water umbrella above our heads. We were already dripping, but at least it wasn't raining heavily upon us anymore. We could look at each other for the first time in two hours.

"Whatever you tell yourself," she whispered, "and whatever others tell you, you aren't wrong, Albus. And I don't care whether you succeed or not—heroes are warriors who don't give up even when the rest of the world has turned its back, and for me, you are a hero. And I'm certain that Scorpius would think the same." Quiet for a while, she cupped my cheek and tried to smile. "Actually, we are all our own heroes, and every day is a battle to be either fought and won or fled and lost—and you have been crowned a victor today already. Stop trying to be strong, Albus. Just let go. "

"Really? You think he—he—" And then I couldn't hold it together anymore, and as the storm raged on, I collapsed to my knees and hugged my cousin's legs, hoping for something to make Hell easier to live in.

"Shhh," she said, although there were tears in her voice as well. I felt her hand on my head, caressing my hair, tender. Like when you try to calm down a frightened dog. "I think he would look at you in the eye and tell you how amazing you are and how much you underestimate yourself, and just because he's Scorpius Malfoy and you're Albus Potter, you would believe him."

She was most probably right.

The storm eased up before I did. 

 

That night, with Rose besides me and Grandma knocking on the door every ten minutes to check on us, I got out my quill and some pieces of parchment. First, I wrote the corresponding letters to Mrs Lancaster, to the Malfoys, and to St Mungo's, and then I turned Rose's laptop on and surfed Amazon for Muggle medicine books. We both whistled at the prices.

"Am I buying signed copies? Sweet Merlin." The cheapest manual was already far more expensive than the The Lost Crown boxed set Mum had bought me back in July, when I was still a shallow and dumb kid who thought summer was one of the worst miseries in life.

"There's no way we can pay for all you need," Rose said sadly, shaking her head. We were using data which were on the edge of running off, and so I started closing windows. Each red cross equalled a book we couldn't afford, and each book we couldn't afford equalled being one step further from helping Scorpius. "How are we going to do this?"

I thought about it for a while. "Maybe..." Tapping on the space bar nervously, I began typing. "Maybe we don't need the physical books."

She glanced over my shoulder and snorted. "Illegal PDFs? You must be kidding."

"Can I contract a bigger amount of monthly data?"

"Of course you can," she said, crossing her arms. "But that is legal. This is not. Those books are copyrighted, and have been written by people who aren't earning their living because of you little monsters who download illegal PDFs."

As you may guess, Rose was a fierce defensor of author rights. Aunt Hermione had published a book on Muggle culture and how it related to our community, so she had her reasons to stand up for Robert Irwin, Elizabeth Halcomb and their fellows—but I wasn't rich, to say, and all the manuals were priced for millionaires. 

"It will weigh on your conscience." 

"Remind me to regret my life choices when I have figured out how to save Scorpius' life from these illegal PDFs."

She couldn't argue any further, and she knew. Still, she snorted before opening her drawer, fumbling for something among the papers and pencils. There were drawings from when we were three, so it took a while until she found what she was looking for. I looked at it and then at Rose. She couldn't be serious.

"Rose..."

"Take it."

"But..."

"Take it. Albus, if you don't, I'll hex you. Take it."

It was her e-book, her favourite thing in the world. The one she had never let us touch, the one she hid so that no one else could find it and wreck it, the one thing she loved the most. 

"Rose, you know I can't. It's your Kindle, for Merlin's sake. You love this thing more than you love me."

"While I won't deny that," she began, "I love Scorpius, too. And maybe I can't do what you intend to, maybe I can't get into such a crusade, but I can arm you for the battle. If you read from the PC screen, you'll be blind before you get through half of the first PDF. With this, it will be like reading a real book. You won't have to worry about the brightness and such."

"Are you sure?"

Not bothering to answer my question, she connected the device to the laptop and started copying books, correcting their titles as she did so, such as in "23948@RRK" to "Biomedical Engineering for Global Health - Richards-Kortum, Rebecca". Her fingers flew over the keyboard swiftly, typing at lightning speed. While the books where being transferred, she looked for some more and, after twenty minutes, got me a complete medical library behind a 6" screen.

"This should be enough to start," she finally yawned, stretching her back and arms. "Remember that you have the Hogwarts studies as well."

"Provided that both Mrs Lancaster and my parents agree on me studying by my own at home, yes. Don't worry, I'll find a way." The truth was, I hadn't even thought of how many hours a day would it take me, because I didn't want to chicken with the excuse that I hadn't been given permission yet and such. "Thanks for everything, Rose."

My cousin hugged me, smelling of storm and grass. St Mungo's faint antiseptic smell lay beneath, but I ignored it. "Always," she whispered.

 

Here's what I learnt right then: life sucks. Life is unfair, and life throws whatever it fancies at you, and then expects you to carry on or die. But we aren't helpless dummies, we aren't its puppets. We can choose to take whatever has been given to us and make something out of it. We can choose to twist the situation and change it, or at least try to. 

I was no Superman. The piranhas inside my stomach were completely wild and on the loose, and whenever I remembered why I was organising my schedules and Teddy's old textbooks, I had to blink back the tears or just get away from all the papers and parchment and cry for a while. My best friend's face appeared in front of me whenever I closed my eyes, and in my mind whenever I opened it, and I couldn't forget for a second the fact that he was going to die very soon.

But no one wanted me to be Superman. I didn't want me to be Superman. Like the desperate child I was, I just wanted to fight for my friend. Most probably, I couldn't save him, and most probably, mine was a battle lost beforehand. And while my plan seemed useless from that perspective, I still carried on planning my studies and piling up books by subjects. When the day came and I had to depart this world as well, I didn't want to look back and regret anything concerning Scorpius. I was pretty sure I could deal with many regrets, but Scorpius had been something so pure and beautiful in my life, I didn't want any regret when it came to his memory.

So I didn't care how much it hurt and clawed at my chest, I didn't care how impossible it seemed, I didn't care that the odds were against me. I was going to be my own hero, and Scorpius', and I was going to fight for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on the last stretch, but worry not, there are still a few chapters and an epilogue to go! Also, rightful copyright to my English teacher Cristina for the "We're all our own heroes..." sentence. It was genious. And finally, a huge thank you and a hug to all of you. Sorry for making you suffer so much.


	27. Chapter 27

When my bladder got me out of my bedroom on the eleventh day WS—Without Scorpius—, Mum and Dad took advantage to ambush me on my way back to my piles of notes and books. "Hello, honey," Mum said, reaching out for my hand. "How are you? We knocked, but you wouldn't open the door, and we didn't want to disturb you."

"Fine," I muttered, rubbing my eye with my free hand. I _really_ didn't have the time for small talk in the corridor. Before my kidneys forced us apart, my illegal PDFs and I had been on the verge of understanding how sex-linked genes were passed on and worked. My mind had felt as if it were caressing the concept with its fingertips, and if I didn't get back to it, I would lose my poor grip on the concept. "Look, I—"

"Ready for _Moana_? Your mother bought it yesterday, and we've tried to keep Lily at bay for you."

"I'm just going to study a little more, okay?"

My parents looked at each other, with an expression on their faces I couldn't quite read.

I _really, really_ didn't have the time.

"Are you okay, son?" Dad asked, taking my hand and mum's in his.

Slightly annoyed, I looked at him for a second, my eyebrows raised. "I'm assuming that's a rethorical question."

"But why would you—"

"Because Scorpius needs me to keep going. It's fine. I'm studying, nothing else." With a snort, I tried to break free from the weird hand-holding, but they didn't allow me to.

"Albus," Mum said, "we feel like we hardly even _see_ you anymore."

Just _why_ couldn't they understand it? Was it so difficult to get? Scorpius' life shortened every second, and if I tried, I may find the magical remedy that would stretch it again. But I needed the time to do so, and they were stealing it from me. Maybe I would never discover the key to saving him because of the stupid chit-chat we were having in the middle of the stairs.

"He needs me," I snapped, finally getting my hand back.

"We need you too, honey," Mum pleaded. She tried to get hold of my wrist, as if I were a two-year-old and we were about to cross the street, but I didn't allow it. "Albus—"

"Get a terminal disease, Mum, and then we'll talk," I shouted. Clocks and watches popped up in my mind, all ticking and running, all reminding me that I had no time to waste if I really wanted to help Scorpius. "You were the ones who didn't want me to be a loser without friends, and now you want me to stop trying to keep the only good one I've made alive so I'll be the same old miserable wreck again, letting you take care of me like I always used to. But I don't need it, Mum. Maybe you're the ones who need—"

"ALBUS!" Dad grabbed my shoulder and forced me to look at him in the eye. "Apologise to your mother. _Now._ "

"You don't know what you—"

"It's you who doesn't know a thing anymore," he spat. He was angrier than when James accidentally set fire to his old Firebolt. "We didn't agree on letting you stay home and study by yourself to get a hermit son, who doesn't even have dinner with his family and behaves like a jerk when asked to say more than a sentence to his mother."

It was infuriating. All I wanted was a cliché Teenager Walkout into my bedroom, wherein I stormed into my room and slammed the door and turned up the 4 Hours Playlist For Studying and got through my PDF, then memorised the History of Magic book to pass the exam and forget about it already. But I couldn't because my father wouldn't let go of my shoulder, which was beginning to ache severely. "You're hurting me," I said through gritted teeth.

"Albus, apologise to your mother," he insisted.

"Fine, I'm sorry, just please leave me alone."

They didn't say anything else. Dad did let go of me, although he looked like he would've been pleased to slap me across the face, and Mum wouldn't look up from the floor. After a while, I couldn't bear it anymore and leaped upstairs to bang my door closed and get back to my papers.

But my father's words wouldn't stop echoing inside my head, from ear to ear, up and down.

Annoyed, I shook my head to chase them away. The least thing I needed was such kind of distractions. And I wasn't being a jerk. I was just trying to save Scorpius, and they wanted to ruin it all because they were selfish, and didn't care whether he died or not. They just cared whether we watched _Vaiana_ together, because otherwise _they_ would feel lonely.

My parents weren't dying, and could comfort each other calling me every name in the book downstairs. But Scorpius couldn't comfort me anymore, and he couldn't listen to me call them every name in the book, because he wasn't downstairs. He wasn't anywhere nearby. He was lying in his hospital bed, stuck with all the potions and the wands fluttering over him to slow down his metabolism and the fat nurses as the only visits allowed and—

"Okay," I whispered. The heavy lump in my throat awoke a furious scratch of anxiety in the pit of my stomach, as if Crookshanks the Third were inside and trying to carve his way through my belly, but I couldn't swallow it down. "Okay."

But it wasn't okay.

It had been long ever since it was okay.

"Okay."

It didn't make anything any less horrible.

"Okay."

Scorpius wouldn't have let me lie to myself.

Sweet Merlin, I hated him. For leaving me alone, for keeping it away, for being a martyr and an idiot, for being a wonderful martyr and an even more wonderful idiot, for making me so happy that life wasn't worth living after him. I hated the stupid kid _so_ much I could barely breathe at the thought of it.

All the papers around me, which I hadn't even noticed had begun floating mid-air, started spinning around me in a furious tornado. Books fell off their shelves, curtains were torn to shreds, posters on the wall ripped apart, notes deafened me when they crumpled, light bulb went crazy. And I was in the middle of it all, in the eye of the hurricane, my chair creaking and quivering under me, but I didn't have the energy to feel afraid.

I just let the storm rage on, the chaos overflowing and spilling out in the shape of tears and the wrathful gale around me.

My room looked exactly like the trench my heart had turned to.

Both had lost their wars.

And I couldn't even care anymore.

Just weep.

 

After a while, I tried to pull myself together and casted an amount of Reparos my mother would've screamed at. The room still looked pathetic and empty and stifling when I finished, but at least I wouldn't trip over a pillow and break my neck. Not that I wasn't on the mood to, but I suspected it wouldn't make anyone besides me happy.

"Mum," I called hoarsely, opening the door with a flick of the wand. "Mum. Mum."

It wasn't necessary to call a fourth time.

"Albus? Is... Wait, what happened here?" She frowned and looked around. At a curtain I had forgotten to fix.

Obviously, she was asking out of politeness, because my room wasn't soundproof and she wasn't deaf. But I played dumb nonetheless.

"Just a... Mum, I'm sorry." It wasn't even a decent apology, but it was all I could summon.

Of course, there were many things I wanted to tell her.

Such as the fact that I just wanted them to have a life, to stop sitting around all day and staring at the ceiling and wondering how to help me out of the downward spiral of self-destruction I could feel myself slowly plummetting into.

Or the fact that I didn't want her to cry, because my room wasn't soundproof and hers wasn't, either, and she wasn't deaf and I wasn't, either, and I couldn't stand the sound of her muffled sobs and Dad's muttered attempts at solacing her every night, and she wasn't supposed to cry anyway because she wasn't supposed to have her son obsessing over something nearly as far-fetched and impossible as renting Pluto for a weekend.

Or the fact that I did want to watch _Moana_ with them, but couldn't because I felt horribly guilty and overwhelmed by responsibility every second I didn't spend studying. But I did want to watch _Moana_ with them.

And I couldn't say any of these things out loud, but she was one of the most powerful witches of the last century, and she was my mother, and somehow she could read my mind and hear the unspoken words, because then she pulled me into a hug. The kind of hug that says "I know," and "You're forgiven," and "You're going to make this," and "I meant _we_ are going to make this."

I didn't even realise I was falling asleep in her arms, but I did notice when I woke up the next minute—or so it seemed—panicked because I had dreamed of being alone and boatless in a huge lake with Scorpius drowning besides me. She was there to keep me from banging my head against the table when I jolted awake.

"Are you okay?"

No, I wasn't okay and, in fact, I doubted I'd ever be okay again, but that wasn't supposed to be what she heard next. So I lied.

"Yes," I said. "Only a little—doesn't matter. Yes, I'm okay."

My room looked fresher and less destroyed than when I had fallen asleep. It smelled suspiciously like Reparo. Qualified Reparo.

The door opened and Dad's head popped in, like a turtle's. "Albus, you have a visit downstairs."

 

Luna Lovegood wore a white cotton blouse, washed jeans and hazelnut ankle boots, her blonde hair tied up into a bun and her appearance the dullest and less remarkable thing of the century, but she still didn't fit in my living room. She didn't fit anywhere near me, much less by my side, sipping her red tea and a glass of water alternatively. The weird tiny monkeys hanging from her earlobes were infinitely more welcome in my house than she was.

"What's she doing here?"

I could feel my cheeks melting from anger, and a painful stab in my chest every time I breathed.

"Albus, don't be rude," Dad told me off. "She's our guest and friend, and besides, she invited you to Salazar's Pit less than a year ago."

"Yeah," I spat, "and almost killed Scorpius from an attack after she treated him worse than you'd treat a spiv. Thank you for your visit, Lovegood, but no thanks. And now, I have five school years and a career to study, so goodbye. Or better, no good. Just bye."

She didn't even blink. "Luna Lovegood: Novelist Emeritus and Semiprofessional Disappointer," she said. "Would you rather I introduced myself in such a way and signed my new book like that?"

"Cut the pity farce." Loathe and rage boiled inside of me, and I didn't mind throwing it at her if she didn't shut up. "I don't care about your new book, and I'm most definitely not going to buy it. You didn't care for Scorpius, despite knowing what he was going through and how what you said may affect him, and you still went off at him, like a gross bully in the playground. For all I care, you could die right here, right now."

"ALBUS!" Dad yelled. "Luna, we—"

He quietened when she raised her hand, apparently calm. "Don't, Harry," she said in a light voice. "Let him talk. He needs to. It does not matter. You were not at my house, but I was, and I can assure you I earned this."

"You—you—" I couldn't even find a proper word to describe her complete lack of shame, and empathy, and manners. "You're worse than any monster you've discovered and investigated. It's you who should be researched on for being so nasty."

All I wanted to do was hurt her so badly she felt Scorpius' pain, make her regret her very existence and cry, cry so much she dried up and died from dehydratation. But then she shrank in her seat, as if I had physically hit her, and I didn't feel like hurting anyone anymore. I just felt miserable and tired.

"You are correct in noting that I am a monster and that I did know how he may be affected when I vented my rage at him at him. And you are right when you state I did not care for Mr Malfoy right then. And whatever you are thinking of, whichever names you are calling me inside your head, they are most probably accurate, too."

She sipped her tea again. The little apes crawled down her neck and nestled against her clavicles, purring.

"You remind me of Hazel," she muttered.

"I remind a lot of people of a lot of people. Ask my grandmother. And now leave."

"No. You remind me of Hazel," she said again. After a second, my parents left and closed the door behind me. Nasty traitors. "You will be, of course, familiar with Antonietta Meo."

"Yeah, no. Leave me alone."

"She may soon become the youngest nonmartyr saint ever beatified by the Catholic Church. She had the same cancer that Augustus suffered from, osteosarcoma. They removed her right leg, and the pain was excruciating. As Antonietta Meo lay dying at the ripened age of six from this agonising cancer, she told her father, 'Pain is like the fabric: The stronger it is, the more it is worth.' Is that true, Albus?"

I wasn't looking at her directly, but could spot her blonde ponytail reflected in the mirror over the chimney. "No. It's stupid."

"But you do wish it were true!" She sniffed, and looked away. "I am sorry that I ruined your trip. You were too young. You were—" She broke down, as if she had any kind of right to cry. Luna Lovegood was another paper plane bursting out of nowhere in a flash of green light, a mourner who didn't know Scorpius but thought she did. Another liar, and another mistake.

"You didn't ruin our trip, you... You..." It didn't feel right to call a woman anything while she wept, so I stuck to 'you didn't ruin our trip'. "We had an awesome time, even if you tried to make it otherwise."

She didn't say anything, and then I realised Luna Lovegood may have her reasons. Not only for being a horrible person, but for talking about life and death with such depth. Despite the resentment inside of me that roared, 'NO PITY, NO MERCY,' I tried to think. And I came to a conclusion I didn't like at all. Because maybe Luna Lovegood had a dead person in her family, too.

I tried to recall the short bio that came on the last page of her books. "You..."

"My mother," she said. "She was young, and an extraordinary witch. Will never be beatified." Luna coughed before adding, "Thestrals are beautiful creatures, indeed. When I was little, I wanted to have one. Now I have too many."

None of us talked any further for a while. She sipped her now cold tea every once in a while, until all she had left to drink was water. She sipped it down, too.

In the end, Luna stood. She looked at me tenderly, and something in her eyes was as ancient as the human race. "Sometimes we need to be pushed to our limits to react," she said, sounding like she was incredibly tired. And then I understood all the comments she had made when we visited her at Salazar's Pit, her determination to cross Scorpius, her completely odd behaviour.

"But—"

"We do not realise the fortunes we posess until we lose them. No rich man will mind about spendings until he becomes bankrupt. No couple will care about the little details until they separate or divorce. No one will pay attention to what the heart has to say until it is too late. But it is not too late yet for you, Albus Potter. Time is trying to trick you into believing you have lost the battle beforehand, but do not let it fool you. We only lose truly when we do not try. Anything else is a victory. Win for him, and for yourself. And, if you can forgive me some day, then win for me, too."

She picked up her wand from the table, and tapped the tea cup, which cleaned before my eyes as it flew past the open doors of the buffet and sat besides its siblings. Then she reached for the dark sweater resting on the couch's arm, and looked at me again.

"No one can replace him, Albus. He is a whole world that will never come to life again once it ceases to exist, unique in the human history. There is no one that can recreate Scorpius Malfoy. But if there were, I think that would be you."

Then she Apparated and left me alone with an empty glass.

 

"Hey, Al," Teddy said, looping an arm around my arms and squeezing. "How's it going?"

"I miss him." To put it simple.

With a sorry smile, he squeezed once more and let go. We both sat at the dining room table, on opposite sides. He opened his black leather satchel and fumbled for a few papers and a quill, which he handed to me. After a whole four months of using ballpoint pens only, I wanted to kill myself at the mere sight of it.

"Anything wrong?" Teddy waved his wand to summon some juice. "Before we start. Once you've written a single letter on the paper, you won't be able to speak until you're done."

"The quill," I confessed. "I'm not sure I know how to use it anymore."

He chuckled, amused. "Of course. Sir wants to innovate with the Bic pens. Sorry, Al, but you have to use the quill."

"Unless you charm my pen. Think of it—an Anti-Cheating Pen instead of an Anti-Cheating Quill."

Teddy shook his head. "When did you turn so sly? Could've done with your wits back at Hogwarts. There're a few people who need some smartass pranks, you know."

Still, he charmed my pen and put the quill away.

"Only, no tippex. Somehow, it deceives all Anti-Cheating spells, so make sure I don't have to explain a single drop of it. Do whatever you want, but I'm not one for extra amounts of paperwork. To be honest, I'm not even one for extra amounts of work. Scratch that, I'm not one for work. Just keep in mind that if I have to make anything close to an effort, you're being revenged on." He Accioed a hourglass from the depths of his satchel, and turned it upside down with a wave of the wand. "One hour and a half starting now, Al. Good luck."

While I took my exam and tried not to mix up the Sleeping Draught ingredients and the Nap Filter's, Teddy opened a notebook and started doodling, bored. Every once in a while, he looked at me to ensure formally that I wasn't copying from a cheat note nor anything, but otherwise he stayed quiet and focused on the three-headed plant-breathing lioncat he was drawing.

"I should dye again. Roots don't look good." When I looked up, he sat with his eyes closed, contentrating, while his hair turned baby blue again. "Focus, Al. Only half an hour left. Lidewij said it isn't an easy exam. It's for OWL students, after all."

It was difficult to focus when he kept changing his hair colour, length and cut in front of me. After a while, fortunately, he tired from it and went back to the dyed fade. Teddy had been a hipster long before the word came to be.

"Everything alright?" he asked when I handed him my exam. Stretching my arms above my head, I nodded. "Great. And if it isn't, don't worry—I'll cheat for you. No one said anything about teachers when making up exam rules, did they?"

Hopefully they did. "Don't worry, Teddy—I'm good at Potions. After all, I can't make them explode from afar. No cauldron, no problem."

He laughed, putting the notebook and the colouring pencils away. "I actually miss you blowing things up. It was funny. Specially when it was someone's brows."

"That happened only once! And, to be fair, MacPherson earned it." That idiot had spread a rumour that Scorpius and I made out between classes, and the whole school had been following us everywhere for over a month. Until they finally convinced themselves that we weren't snogging in the greenhouse during the breaks, our lives had been a squealing hell.

"He looked cuter with no eyebrows, that I must admit." Teddy opened the door. "But still, it was almost wicked. You made me proud—auch! Hey, Lil!"

My sister had tackled Teddy to the floor, and now his satchel lay across the room, dangerously near the open window. It was raining outside, so I casted a rushed Accio, trying not to panic thus making the bag explode. A whole week had gone by without me setting anything on fire, and I was determined to stretch the record even further.

"TEEEEDDYYYYYYYY," Lily howled. "WATCH FROZEN FEVER WITH MEEEE."

For a second, Teddy looked frightened, but then he managed to fake a smile. "I'd love to, sweetie, but I must go. Teachers are busy, you see—but maybe Al can watch it with you?"

'Traitor', I mouthed as my little sister spun her head like the Exorcist's girl. "Sorry, Lily, but I have to study for my exams."

"But you just took one! You have to rest!"

"Wise girl," Teddy said hurriedly. He was already sprinting into the hall. "Aunt, I'm leaving! Smack, smack!" And then poof, he Apparated out of sight.

"Albuuuus," Lily insisted, tugging at my sleeve. "WatchFrozenFeverwithmepleeeeease."

Cursed Teddy. I wanted to Apparat from awkward situations, too—but no matter how much I studied, I couldn't age faster than nature said I could. Cursed genetics, too.

"Just eight minutes of relax, Albus," intervened Mum, pulling her ginger mane back to braid it. "It won't kill you."

"And wouldn't have killed Teddy, either," I fired back. Lily was already messing around with the TV and the DVD, so I helped her not get electrocuted.

"Well, he isn't the one studying from seven to two AM."

In the end, I had to watch Elsa of Arendelle sneeze little snowmen while Lily screamed 'Let It Go' off-pitched. The only good part was when Marshmallow opened the doors of the castle to find all the sneezed creatures smiling cutely.

"Muuuum, I want a snowmaaaaan," Lily cried when the credits rolled in, patting her knees like the crybaby she was. Merlin, she was going to be _so_ lost in Hogwarts.

With a sigh, and hoping she'd leave me alone, I grabbed my wand and described a lazy circle, trying to remember exactly how the little snowmen were. A cold, small and surprisingly accurate copy fell on Lily's lap, and she squealed.

"MUM, MUM, I HAVE A SNOWMAN!"

"What?" Our mother entered the living room, holding a book with her index stuck between its pages. "Oh, yes. Very cute, Lil. Albus, you're free to go."

I practically flew upstairs, aching to archive all my Potions notes. I still had two more years of the subject to study, but having gotten through four all at once, it felt like the whole world should bow to me. Another month should be enough to get through the seven years of Potions.

Mum was right when she argued that I didn't sleep enough, but I couldn't. I had no time to lose. I had only advanced in Potions, whereas in the other core subjects I was still in my third year. All the Muggle studies were on hiatus, something that had been painful to decide but necessary as well. Every once in a while, I binge-read one of my illegal manuals, but that was it. Still, I tried not to take them up again, telling myself that I ought to know magic first before combining both things.

Sighing, I looked at my scribbled schedule, and tried to make some mental math. I had been at home studying for almost four months already, and I had to progress faster. If not, I may fall behind soon, and then my plan would crumble.

My chest started aching at the thought of it, and soon it spread to my abdomen and the rest of my torso. Closing my eyes, I tried to ignore my galloping heart and rested the head atop the table, counting to ten and then to twenty and then to fifty and then I lost count and had to start again. The bin was nearby, but I knew that, despite the horrible taste in my mouth and the nausea, I wouldn't throw up.

"Scorpius," I muttered, without opening my eyes. "Tell me what to do. If you were here, you'd know what to say." He didn't answer, of course. "Heck. I miss you, moron. Come back."

All anxiety started evaporating, leaving only the already familiar throbbing pain. It felt warm and frozen at the same time, like an ice knife stabbing at my ribs. And I wanted to push it deeper, until I bled out and faded to nothing, but I couldn't. Metaphors sucked.

"I know you can't come back on your own," I murmured after a while, opening my eyes and sighing. "But don't go, either. Just... Hang on, okay? Wait for me. I'll get there somehow, but you have to wait for me. Otherwise, I won't be able to reach you. _Wait for me_."

Despite the fact that I was all alone in my room, I could hear him whisper in my ear, 'I am. I will.' Most probably, it was sheer exhaustion. All the same, I chose to imagine him besides me.

Inhaling deeply, I shook off the last remnants of the panic attack and grabbed the Teddy-inherited Herbology book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm completely the kind of idiot who reads the final chapters of @queen_mycroft's "Sherlock and John" (Wattpad. Go read it, Johnlockers!) before writing this and Jesus, the feels. Holy duck, it's still a mystery how come I didn't kill everyone in this chapter. Also: ONE MORE CHAPTER AND THE EPILOGUE TO GO!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST CHAPTER!

I woke up a few days later to a killer headache. Uncle Fred's memories had been coming back lately, but they were mere flashes, frozen images that couldn't really hurt me—until that night. My uncle had died again before my eyes, and even though it wasn't nearly as disturbing as it was the first time, probably because I didn't have much energy to be Ghostly Sucked, it still dreaded me to think of his last seconds alive. My room felt chilly, almost as much as the Hogwarts corridors two decades ago.

"Hey, you okay?" Mom opened the door a little, just enough to stick her head into my room. "You look troubled."

My heart was trying to punch my ribs broken, but I nodded. She hadn't bought it for a second, obviously, but pretended to nonetheless. "Seamus' on the chimney for you."

Shivering, I jumped off bed and reached for a hoodie on the back of my chair. "Who's where for what?"

Mum allowed herself in and opened the curtains, folding the clothes scattered across the floor with a flick of her wand. "Seamus Finnigan is on the chimney for you. Seamus Finnigan as in Luna's assistant and friend of ours, the chimney as in our living room, you as in the mess I have for a son. Clear now?"

It still didn't make any sense to me, so I shook my head. "I'm not the brightest kid in the morning," I apologised. "Sorry."

She smiled to me. "No, but it gets better after a few hours. Just go downstairs while I clean this up a little." When I opened my mouth, she quickly added, "Don't worry, I won't touch your table. I just want anyone who enters the room to notice there's a carpet under all these T-shirts."

My mother had gotten the Spring Clean Fever a few weeks before, and my room had been the last mess standing for the past days. Unluckily, it was going down today. R.I.P.

Downstairs, my mother's words made some sense when the crackling fire in the chimney talked to me. "Ha boy, it's been ages! Just calling to check in, see how you're doing," said Seamus Finnigan' ablaze face, smiling. His words and accent were heavily Irish now, and it was almost hard to make out what he said. "Everything okay? Ya flying it?"

"Yeah, thanks," I answered, trying not to drool. My head still hurt and demanded two more hours of sleep. "I'm doing okay."

"You've just had some brutal jam, boyo. But Luna told us you're working on something, yeh?"

Luna talked way too much. "Um, kind of," I murmured, letting my gaze wander across the living room. Honestly, I didn't feel like talking to anyone about what I was doing, and Finnigan was no exception. "Just—"

"She said it has to do with Muggle medicine. Me ole man was a nurse, and Dean's a doctor, too, so maybe ya can ask them? In fact—DEAAAAAAN, C'MERE," he howled suddenly. I jumped, fully awake.

A few seconds later, a second face appeared among the ashes and the embers, looking as sleepy as I did. "What the—hey, Albus. Doing fine?"

"Moreless," I answered. "Hello, doctor Thomas."

"Just Dean, please, outside working hours. The whole doctor thing's so frippery. Why did you drag me here? I was sleeping," he grumbled, giving Finnigan the death look.

"Sleep later."

"I'm on watch later," he said. "Like _tonight_. Maybe it rings a bell."

"Bunk off and stay home."

"Seamus."

They stared at each other in silence and with faces of constipation until Finnigan gave up and rested his head atop what I figured must be doctor Th—Dean's shoulder, because I could only see half of his face now. "Sorry. What a ride are you."

"Just shut up and don't wake me the next time. You wanted what?"

"Albus' working on somethin' medical, and I figured you could help him a little." An finger emerged from the bottom of the flames, pricking Dean's cheek. "Am I right or am I right?"

Dean rolled his eyes, although he couldn't conceal a smile. "At least make a decent breakfast, numpter." He waited until Finnigan disappeared from the flames to speak again. I guessed he was off to make a decent breakfast. "What do you want to know, Albus?"

"I'm trying to work out the DNA stuff, mostly," I explained. "If you can explain anything to me, or even tell me some good textbooks, it'd help me a lot."

"Actually, I can. My old notes from the career must be somewhere—I can send them to you, if you like. Sounds good?"

It sounded better than good.

"Great to know they'll be of some use," he smiled. "Like I said, I'm on watch tonight, but it's Friday, so tomorrow I'll look for them. I promise. What are you thinking of?"

"I still don't know exactly," I confessed. "I have a general idea, but I can't quite put my finger on what I must do. It's hard."

He laughed. "Boy, you're a twelve-year-old studying twenty-year-old stuff, and you're trying to come up with a whole new therapy for a rare disease. The fact that you even have an idea is impressive enough."

We chit-chatted a little on basic notions of genetics, until Finnigan appeared in my chimney again. "Sorry, boyo, but I just nailed a fry. I'm taking my fella, but I swear we're lookin' for the notes tomorrow." Dean squeezed his eyes, looking at him sideways. His whole face screamed, ' _we_ means _Dean_ , right'. Finnigan didn't see him, or pretended not to see him, because he beamed at me. "Crack on, Albus, You're savage, ya can do this."

Feeling slightly dizzy from the slang and the early hours, I weakly waved back. "Yeah, bye," I said. "And thanks."

"Welcome. Oh, and before I forget! Scorpius mailed Luna something, and I told her to send it to ya. She may appear the mentaller, but she's not so gone in the head. Actually, she's quite nice."

They disappeared, and the fire died down. Only half log was left, so I hurried to the basket to feed the small flames some wood, and then headed to the kitchen for breakfast. An apple and some juice was all I needed to get down to business with Charms.

Mum was cooking, and the whole place smelled delicious. "Your room is almost clean now," she said. "How did it go?"

"I hate Irish slang," I moaned, opening the fridge to get the peach juice. "And Finnigan overdoes it way too much."

She laughed, and tilted the pan so that the fried egg slid onto her plate. Then she took the latter to the table, and sat opposites me. "Oh, honey, and you have only talked to him for a few minutes. When we were little and he got excited during Quidditch matches, you couldn't make out half of the sentences. Only Dean could translate some part of it. We used to date, Dean and I, and sometimes we would be talking about whatever and he'd blurt in some weird Irish word."

"Seriously?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Like, I don't know, 'stop acting the maggot, Gin!'. It was pretty evident that they were a little more than friends, even back then."

"And if you knew Dean didn't really love you, why did you go out with him?" I asked, puzzled.

"Because it was convenient for us both. I made your father jealous, and he found out that he wasn't interested in me nor any girl. Of course, I liked him, too—don't think I used him or something. He was funny, and intelligent, and a very attentive and caring boyfriend. Only, he wasn't meant to be _my_ boyfriend, and I wasn't meant to be his girlfriend, either."

"Now I'm curious," I said. "When did they start going out?"

"During their seventh year, sixth for me, on the early days. Someone told the Carrows Seamus wasn't straight, and they tortured him beyond imaginable. Every time they called him to his office, we all feared he wouldn't get back alive. Then, one night, Seamus was seized by Amycus, and Dean couldn't take it anymore. He casted a blinding spell on him, then took Seamus' hand and led him to the Room of Requirement, where we used to take our classes with your father." Mum's eyes stared into nowhere, misted by memories. "We once were the Dumbledore Army, you see, and Dean hadn't forgotten about our meeting point.

"He fled the castle shortly after, on the run for his Muggle origins, but not without the promise that he'd go back for Seamus. He told us himself, Dean vowed to get back to him, no matter what. When he did get back for the Battle of Hogwarts, after the Dumbledore Army called all members to arms, I swear their hug seemed to end war."

She smiled sheepishly, presumably remembering the war-ending hug. Then I remembered something, too.

"Um, mum."

"Yes?"

I cleared my throat. "Actually, Seamus told me they started going out in their fifth year."

She frowned. "What? Honey, I've just told you Dean went out with—"

"No, really. See, he said it took him four years to ask him out after noticing his feelings at the beginning of his second year, so that makes it the fifth when they finally started dating. Also, he said Dean had to date you to stop the rumours. Which means you both knew you didn't really love the other, but not that the other didn't really love you."

With a look that may have stopped climatic change for good, she got up. "Excuse me, honey, but I'm going to have a few words with two gentlemen."

"Just don't mention that I told you," I pleaded. "Dean was going to send me his old college notes."

"Honey, after what I've just heard, trust me, he _is_ going to send you his old college notes."

 

That same afternoon, I received the promised letter by Luna. Wendelin only tried to rip my finger off my hand three times, which I decided was a great omen, and I started reading at an anxious speed.

"Dear Albus,

Scorpius was very ill when he asked me to visit him. It was during the night, at such late hours that neither you nor his parents would unexpectedly appear, and he was coughing blood. I believe he was put in St Mungo's the day after, which makes my visit the riskiest thing he could have done. Please, believe me when I say we talked calmly. No further pain was inflicted to him by my presence and, in fact, I explained everything you did not need to be told. There was a notebook on his bedside table, where I found a few scribbled pages he wanted me to rip off and save. He wanted me to rewrite them into something more beautiful, because he was ashamed of what he had weaved with some of his last words.

I refused.

At this point, he became angry, Albus, but I did not yell at him again. Instead, I explained that he owed it to you to let his words be what guided your understanding and mourning, not mine, and I sat down and summoned a quill, and he finished the letter orally. The words are all his, even if the calligraphy is not. When he was done, he said, and I quote him directly, 'Do whatever you want with them, but please make the message reach Albus somehow'. My somehow is the letter itself.

May Merlin guard you, Albus.

Luna Lovegood"

My Transformations and Medicine books fell off the shelves before I could finish reading. When I reached her signature, I had to force myself back to control, because my guts menaced to conjure another hurricane in the middle of my newly-cleaned room.

Scorpius' handwriting was messy, gliding across the page, the size of the letters varying, the color of the ink changing. He had written it over many days, in varied stadiums of sickness and consciousness.

 

"Albus,

I'm a wonderful friend, but a so-so person. You're a so-so friend, but a wonderful person. We make a great team. I don't want to ask you any further favours than all the ones you've already granted me, but if you have the time—and I fear you'll have plenty for a while—, I was wondering if you could sit somewhere warm and listen to me for a few minutes. If you can, get a glass of water and a handkerchief. I don't care whether it's honey-scented or not. But you sure do, so take your time to find one that suits you.

This should be an easy letter to write—words should flow easily and it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy you made me every day, but somehow I can't bring myself to spell a single word. So, just like you did during your wonderful eulogy, let me talk about something else, and then we'll see whether I can say what I mean or you'll have to guess what I mean from what I say.

Once upon a Monday, Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter had Charms and Transformations in a row. It was horribly exhausting for Scorpius, but for Albus, it was hell straight-forward. Young Albus used to panic on Mondays, because he said they weren't fire-proof at all, and also he tried a new terrible excuse every one of them not to make the spells in class. Of course, he never got away with it, but that's not the point. This particular Monday, we had to turn a newt into a feather, and McGonagall asked you to perform in front of everyone.

"You bet! I'm a disaster with spells, remember? All I do is blowing things up," you said when she threatened to send you to McGonagall Senior's, earning a week of detention.

And I just laughed along, but didn't open my mouth even though I ached to. Here's what I wanted to say: _Well, you certainly do blow my mind._ "

 

At this point, I was crying endlessly already.

 

"Right now, I'm thirteen, but back then, I was days ago from turning twelve. I was still a kid, and you were, too. No doubt what I'm about to say will make you want to throw up, but I can't keep quiet about it anymore. Despite what everyone tries to convince me of, I have assumed I'm going to die, and just the way money isn't useful to a dead man, nor are secrets. The urge to tell you is overwhelming, Albus, and it's making me sweat in anticipation and nervousness as I write—sorry for the horrible calligraphy, again. Shall you turn your back on me, at least I will have lived my last days happily with you, when everything was still alright between us, and shall you not, at least you'll know the why to many things.

There isn't a simple way to say this, honestly.

I, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, love ~~d~~ you, Albus Severus Potter.

Scratch that. I love you. Scratch the _d_. Each day more. Each hour, each minute, each second.

Remember when I explained to you how cells worked? You are Albus because your cells have an instructions manual, DNA, made of things called genes, which says how to make you up. Ever since I met you, Albus, I have suspected that it was in my instructions manual, in my DNA, to love you, because otherwise I can't explain why have I grown so into you. My love didn't need kisses nor hugs nor cheesy confessions—even though this one sure is. Not even to be returned. My love just wanted to stay by your side and never leave you, no matter what, and it rejoiced when you allowed me to. I didn't love you the way Romeo loved Juliet. I loved you in the purest way I've ever loved someone. 

I know, it's revolting. An eleven-year-old boy falling in love with another boy he barely knows. But that's how it went. If you asked me, I couldn't say why I fell for you—maybe because you're funny, maybe because you're charming, maybe because of your dark sense of humour, maybe because of your bluntness, maybe because of your willingness to learn, maybe... Maybe because of your good looks, why lie. Actually, I suspect I fell a little because of each of them, and mostly because of the result of them, which is you. I fell because of, and for, the concept of Albus Potter, with everything that made _you_ up. Having been able to share my life with you, Albus, has been the blessing my parents asked for every day, and if when I go the last thing I see is your face, then I'll know that, wherever I'm heading off to, it will be alright. There was a song, on the radio you gave me, which went something pretty close to this:

_When my time comes, forgive the wrong that I've done and help me leave behind some reasons to be missed. Don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory and leave out all the rest._

I think I mixed up a part of the lyrics, but it was moreless like that. Albus, that's the last favour I want to ask from you: leave out all the rest. If you have read up to this point, I know you'll be either crying or wanting to cry. Please, don't keep it all to yourself. Cry. Laugh. Smile. Pout. Scream. Whisper. Do what you have to. If not for you, for me. Just live, Albus. Don't sit and watch life as it goes. Seize it, and tame it. Make it worthy of you.

What else? I think I'm already long enough that this stopped making sense a while ago.

It was only that, actually. There's nothing else I've ever wanted to tell you so badly. No other secret that I've kept from you. Just this.

I am so lucky to love you, Albus. I was a night sky in a stormy night, until you came and blew the clouds away, and became my moon and stars. It will never be dark for me again, not even now. You gave me what I lacked before I even realised I was missing something. You gave me purpose. And now I can only wish I managed to give a little back. Ever since I got the grass bean, Albus, I've liked my choices. I hope you like yours."

 

I do, Scorpius.

I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for the epilogue next Monday!


	29. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'VE TOLD YOU FROM THE BEGINNING, I'M NOT JOHN GREEN. OKAY? OKAY.

Once, I wrote a letter.

I've written many letters. I've also received a great deal of them, particularly from St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. But this one wasn't a letter. It was _the_ letter. Once, I wrote the letter.

Part of me hoped I would live enough to have it answered, but mostly, I feared what the answer would be, so I prayed that I wouldn't have to witness how it ruined the little life I had left. Maybe I have forgotten to mention it, but once, I was dying.

When I was born, my heart wouldn't find a proper rythm, which meant a lot of nurses rushed to cast as many spells as possible to get me through. As a result, a recessive gene in my DNA morphed into a hungry beast, devouring all I was, and started killing me slowly from my first regular heartbeat. From there on, my whole existence was marked by magiconecrosis, the curfew of my life set at eleven years old by the most optimistic doctors. Some others didn't trust me to push it beyond six. There was one who said I may die any moment as he examined me. I was three.

After turning thirteen, the normal thing would have been to feel like a champion, like a victor, but I only felt like a thief. I had stolen time from Death, astonishing all the doctors who had bet on my lifespan and, of course, my family, who saw every day I got through as a miracle. Despite my absolute mediocrity, somehow I had managed to give them many miracles to celebrate, and I felt like a thief because every dawn meant more pain, more days it would take them to get over my death and me.

For that reason, closing my eyes wasn't so bad. Because with the end of hope came the end of accumulative pain. Also, because it meant no more seizing pain every time I inhaled. But mostly because I closed my eyes to Albus Potter, which takes me back to the beginning. Once, I wrote the letter to Albus Potter.

After I lost consciousness, the image of his face always present in my mind, I slowly let myself slip into darkness. It wasn't scary, nor did it hurt. It was like floating in the middle of a pleasant nothingness, slowly forgetting what I had been and endured. At first, I was scared that Death would get revenge on me for having stolen two years from him, but as the warm and dull feeling set in, I stopped fearing his wrath. 

But right when I felt prepared to open my arms and let him embrace what was left of me, the darkness began to pull back. Worse than that, I began to almost _feel_ again. Old sensations I had nearly forgotten, such as the texture of something against my skin or the aseptic smell from hospitals, started coming back to me, while the only relief I had experienced in thirteen years recoiled each time faster. Tears ran down my face as I called it back to me, trying to grasp its blackness with my bare hands, but it turned into an oily ooze that dripped between my fingers and dropped to nowhere, leaving me alone with the increasing cocktail of sensations and stimuli.

Maybe Death had decided to get revenge on me, after all.

Something itchy and heavy grew in the lower part of my nose and my throat, and my voice grew hoarse. Still, I couldn't stop calling Death. Asking whether this was my ending, whether this was the ending before the little remnants of my conscience faded into darkness. He didn't answer.

 

A slow dribbling sound welcomes me back to life. At first, I don't recognise it as such, because everything is still in the shadows and I can only make out the rythmic drip, but then they blossom in my field of vision. Colours and shapes. Beeps and faraway voices join the dripping one, crafting a symphony of everyday sounds and common noises, while the sensations that broke my relieving darkness overwhelm my senses. There's something silky against my skin. A cool and rosy smell floats in the air I'm breathing, which I vaguely associate with flowers. And there's too much light everywhere, killing the last shreds of my comforting darkness, bringing back the physical tortures of pain and exhaustion.

Not as much as before, not by far. But after I almost died, returning to the physical world is excruciating. And it means more suffering for the people around me. It means my mother will cry more, and my father's bags under his eyes will darken even further. It means my few friends will have to watch me wither again. It means everyone will foster the smallest flame of hope as I steal some more time before I go for good, and leave a trail of desperation and tears behind.

Maybe I can snatch a wand from some nurse's pocket and cast the first spell that comes to mind. The effort would most probably kill me, and at least they will be able to show off the most creative suicide in the history of magic. A slow hum besides me tells me that my plans may be easier to fulfil than I thought.

"Wait, you—"

Or maybe not.

Dizziness builds up inside of me as someone forces my eyes wide, inspecting whatever there is to inspect in them, then slams the door open against the wall and cries two names.

It takes some time to make them out.

_Astoria!_

_Draco!_

And then I smell something that sends shivers down my spine. Because it's ink and sweat and fresh mint, and these things are the most common I could have named, but they are melted into the one scent that is carved in my soul. The one the darkness couldn't wash away.

Albus' scent.

Before I can even begin to realise what's happening, something heavy crashes against my chest, which menaces to crumble into a pile of tiny bits of bone. The pain of being forced back to life is raised to the power of finite. And it doesn't really matter to me. Because my world, which had been engulfed by death, is now quickly blossoming back to life, all the frost melting, the dark of the night turning into the light of day. 

Sweet Merlin forgive the allegory, but that's exactly how finding Albus atop of me, hugging the pathetic leftovers of a miserable body, felt: like the 21st of March, the exile of winter in favour of spring. 

"It worked," he's murmuring. His cold hands—they have never been cold to me before—are cupping my face, dragging me to the world of the living with such strength that I can't even think of resisting. "You're back, Scorpius. You..."

I'm dreaming, and I will never want to wake up.

My lips are chapped, and bleed the moment I stretch them into a smile, but Albus deserves it. My blood and my pain. He deserves everything I can give to him, and still, it can never be enough.

And the very least thing I want to offer is my heart. Fragile, weak, unable to beat properly, but still a heart, a human heart, which feels, and loves, and fears rejection but can't bear the pain of uncertainty anymore.

With my crooked voice, I say, "Albus, I love you."

I know I wrote it to him, but the words are begging me to be spoken out loud. And I'm a selfish teenager, and I don't want to deprive myself from the simple pleasure of stating that I love Albus Potter.

"I know," he says, leaning his forehead against mine. "Sweet Merlin, I thought I'd never hear your voice again. You—How dare you die? Idiot!"

When he pulls back to punch my arm, I notice that this is not Albus. Or, at least, not the Albus I'm used to. His beautiful brown hair is much messier, in a way that would make the four houses faint, and his features have sharpened, all roundness from childhood gone. But something has remained the same. Two perfect green circles stare at me, and I'm back at the Hogwarts Express, choosing a bean from the box the boy I don't know I'm about to fall for has offered to me.

"I was about to say how much the friendzone hurts, but I think the idiotzone is far worse," I fire back. Across the white sheets, I reach for his hand and squeeze weakly. "You brought me back." And it's not a question.

With a nod, he sits up besides me. "After you were put into the comma, I asked your parents for permission to try something. At first, I didn't quite know what I should work on, but after Luna talked to me and Deant lent me his notes from Medicine, I came up with a solution. The root problem are some flawed genes, right?, so I figured out that, if I somehow fixed them—if they stopped being flawed, you would be alright. Of course, it was a failure, because magiconecrosis has turned out to be pretty witty, so after three years and a half of studying and sketching a therapy, I was back to square one. 

"But then Teddy suggested something that made me think. 'You know,' he said, 'when a player sucks, you don't try to train him into something he clearly can't be. You pay a smutty amount of galleons for a new Chaser, or Seeker, or whoever's a failure'. So I guessed that the solution may not require fixing, but changing. So I took some fragments of your DNA which weren't damaged and duplicated their structure, then carefully replaced one of the magiconecrosis genes with the copy, so—"

My head hurts from all the information. "Wait. So you have played with my DNA as if it were construction blocks?"

He smiles apologetically. "Kind of. I had to remove the faulty chains, so... Oh, Merlin, Scorpius." His lower lip quivers. "I'm... I'm so sorry, but by the time I was able to test this technique on you, practically every magical gene in your body had turned into a tumour."

Which means...

"You aren't a wizard anymore, Scorpius." 

Then he starts crying in silence, brave. And I don't understand why.

"Albus."

No answer.

"Albus."

He's still sobbing.

"Albus, why are you crying?"

"Because I couldn't save you properly."

Now who's in the idiotzone.

"Albus."

Again, he doesn't answer.

"Albuuuus."

He's silent again.

"If you don't stop crying over something so stupid, I may have to take some measures."

Which, when he doesn't stop crying over something so stupid, I can't believe I'm taking.

Because how could someone as insignificant and weak as I am dream of kissing Albus Potter?

Of course, the fact that he answered to my 'I love you' with an 'I know' is very present in my mind, burning holes through my heart like acid, but it stops mattering the moment I'm brave enough to hold his face between my bony hands and bring my lips closer to his, our breaths lingering against each other's in deep respect before I dare. Before I dare cross the limit no friend should dare cross, and touch his mouth with mine. Before the world falls apart.

I have faded into darkness before, but it isn't any close to this. Because I'm now fading into something I can't quite describe, something warm that's melting me from the inside, turning into only the kiss. Even though I know that Albus doesn't love me back, most probably, and that this must be revolting to him, and that my parents may enter the room any moment and I may kill them from a heart attack, I can't stop. I can only keep kissing Albus, giving him all I am right now, all that has always been his, before he pulls away and takes with him the reason why living felt worthy. 

He's a magnet, and I'm made of iron. He's a light, and I'm a moth. He's the Sun, and I'm Icarus.

He's Albus, and I'm Scorpius.

And, when he kisses me back, I'm just a supernova.

Which doesn't want to die anymore.

 

Darkness can wait.

* * *

The two boys waiting for their flight to be called are extremely uncanny. One of them is too young to be a doctor, and too old to be a child; the other feels too young after five years in the dark, but too old to be alive. Both may look too young to hold their hands with such certainty, as if they had been shaped to fit together a long time ago, and too old to eat chocolate ice-creams. But both are young enough to be madly in love, and old enough to be seriously devoted to each other.

One would never guess they were the creator of the cure for magiconecrosis and the first to be healed. Never have they been easily-cathegorisable people. Looking at the scrawny platinum-haired boy, you wouldn't have guessed his infinite strength. Had you cast a giggling glance at the well-built brunet besides him, the last thing you would have thought is that, once a bluff at spells and studies, he became a straight A's student to save the most important person for him. 

 

Albus and Scorpius were never what everyone expected. Not when they metaphorically bumped into each other at the Hogwarts Express, nor when they forged a bulletproof friendship, and specially not when they fell in love, one completely unaware of it and the other perfectly conscious. They were never Harry Potter's son and Draco Malfoy's child, nor Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy, but just Albus and Scorpius. And maybe that was why they fit together so well, or maybe it wasn't.

After Scorpius gathered enough courage to take the step Albus ached to take, but wouldn't have dared to despite knowing that he wouldn't trip, not a single thing stayed the same. Before, when Scorpius' family and friends had rushed inside his hospital room to say goodbye, Albus had lain besides him. Now, when they stormed into the room to welcome the unwelcomable, to witness the greatest theft Scorpius had committed against Death, Albus held his hand. Not just holding it. Their fingers were intertwined like a girl's hair in a braid, and below the skin, their blood sang the same song. Finally, Scorpius' heart seemed to have found the right beat.

Of course, not everything was a bed of roses. Some criticised their relationship, some others tried to trick them out of it. Some even refused to ever see them again. The first months were packed with therapy and medicines, which left both Scorpius and Albus exhausted, and with many key analitics. One single number lower or higher than expected, and everything the youngest of the Potter boys had worked on for five years would crumble like a castle of cards in a windy day.

But the numbers remained stable, and so did they.

"Hey." The brunet in the airport pinches his partner's cheek, waking him up. The pale boy's stomach twists and does this funny thing it uses to whenever his best friend is around. "Our flight is being called, Sleeping Beauty. Are you feeling okay?"

"Grand," he answers, and kisses his doctor's forehead. "Let's go."

The brunet pulls him to his feet, and doesn't let go of his hand once he's standing. It's twenty-five past six in Stansted, London, and it will be ten o'clock in the Adolfo Suárez airport, Madrid, when the plane lands. 

But, for them, the time isn't measured in hours and minutes anymore. 

It's measured in moments together.

"I want to see the Schweppes neon thing," the pale boy says, remembering something a woman once told them. "And to visit La Violeta in Plaza de Canalejas."

"Well," his partner answers, "I want to kiss you in front of Puerta del Sol."

Even after a year, words like these make the younger boy blush.

"I don't deserve you."

"Do you want to be kicked back into the idiotzone?"

None of the other passenger notices the magic they share. Because, even though one of them will never cast any spell again, together they make something far more powerful than anything a wand can summon.

 

Once, Scorpius Malfoy thought that Albus Potter would be his Happily Ever After.

 

Now he realises that he's his Once Upon A Time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is over. Merlin's sake, this is over and it hurts and I want to cry badly. I'm proud of having finished this story, but at the same time, it feels like saying goodbye.
> 
> I can't write a poshy afterword right now without disappearing into a metaphorical puddle of tears, so here goes the essential thing: THANKS. I love you. All. A lot more than you can imagine. And I always will. You made my life so much more magical, and got me through the year to this point. Even if you didn't realise, sometimes you guys and this story were the only lights in the dark, and I can never thank you enough. But I can try. And no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter how I turn out as a person in my life, whatever good I am will always be your merit. Thanks, and farewell.


	30. Bonus: Lovegood's Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Apology Bonus! First of all, thank you so much for having read The Fault in Our Wands this far. It was a mere product of boredom when I came up with the title and edited The Fault in Our Stars' cover to kill time, but then I started wondering what would the story be like, and how would the characters behave, and whether it was possible to introduce something as human and non-magic as cancer to J.K.'s Wizarding World... So I rererereread TFIOS for the hundredth time, noting down the plot in detail and imagining how would things go if it were a Scorbus fanfiction, and... here we are. It wouldn't have reached this far without your support, so infinite thanks!
> 
> Do you remember when, in Chapter Seven, Scorpius gives Al a letter Luna wrote to him? The paper is ripped, and Scorpius suggests Luna may have used the rest of it to note down the Kalernorls' favourite meals or something like that. (Al is in the infirmary after having woken up in terrible pain due to the Ghost Occupancy, in case you're a little lost) Well, as some of you may have guessed, Scorpius was lying. Here you have the complete letter Luna Lovegood wrote to Scorpius. Enjoy!

"Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I am truly happy to hear that the two of you will be coming to visit me at Salazar's Pit next year. I am most definitely looking forward to it. Sorry that I am not able to receive you now, but it is the nature of the stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare wronger than when he had Cassius note, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves."  I would say the fault, in this case, is in the Kalernorls.

Thank you also for your interest in my expedition. Yes, the Kalernorls are very much alive, and we are already tracking some specimens. It is very likely that we will be able to document their existence for the first time in history. As you asked for it—and I am very pleased to see that smart young boys like you are interested in learning beyond what is taught in class, in discovering the world as it truly is—, I have included a sketch of how a Kalernorl looks. We have only seen them from afar, but worry not; they are big enough so as to ensure that we did not miss any limb or horn.

Having specialized on Magic Creatures, I had never heard of magiconecrosis before, but I deeply mourn your condition, Mr. Malfoy. It is not fair that such a young and wonderful boy shall suffer from such a horrible disease. I asked some of my colleagues about it, and I am terrified to hear that you have already outlived the average life expectancy. Even though I do not know you personally, it dreads me to think that you may pass away any moment. Still, I do not think that it is fair to leave young Mr. Potter out of your life.

Life is made up of choices, Mr. Malfoy. There are choices you make, and then choices others make. And here is the difference  between them: you have a saying on your own choices, but none on the other's. You can choose to push Mr. Potter away, but you cannot make his choice to stay away from you. You cannot make his choice to be your friend, the way he cannot make your choice to be his.

I digress, but here is what I want to say:  You are still alive, and it is your duty to make the most out of it, yet not your right to do it alone. You can decide you do not want to impose yourself and consequently your death upon anyone, but you cannot decide for him whether he can enter your life and tear your walls down or not. You are still alive, Mr. Malfoy, and you must not impose your will upon young Mr. Potter's decision, particularly when it is one that comes not from greed, but from true friendship and acceptance. He wishes to be by your side, and you should let him. You may not find my logic persuasive, but I have experienced enough losses to assure you that it is better to love and be loved, even if the loss tears us apart, than to petrify our hearts by exiling love from our lives.

Best wishes,

Luna Lovegood"

**Author's Note:**

> Official playlist for The Fault in Our Wands: https://play.spotify.com/user/nshiiro/playlist/5B96zVtwlRpabf8TlrkIyK 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :) See you next Monday!


End file.
